A  TEXAS  RANGER 


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A  TEXAS  RANGER 


BY 

WILLIAM  MacLEOD  RAINE 

AUTHOR  OF 

WYOMING,    BUCKY    O'CONNOR,    MAVERICKS, 
RIDGWAY   OF  MONTANA,   ETC. 


GROSSET  &  DUN LAP 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 

Made  in  the  United  States  of  America 


COPYRIGHT,  igio,  BY 

STREET  &  SMITH 

COPYRIGHT,  xgxx,  BY 

G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  COMPANY 


A  TEXAS  RANGER 


CONTENTS 

PART   I 

THE  MAN  FROM  THE  PANHANDLE 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     A  DESERT  MEETING 13 

II.     LIEUTENANT  FRASER  INTERFERES  .    .  30 

III.  A  DISCOVERY 42 

IV.  LOST!     .    i 51 

V.     LARRY  NEILL  TO  THE  RESCUE  .    .    .  61 

VI.     "SOMEBODY'S  ACTING  MIGHTY  FOOL- 
ISH"     ,  72 

VII.     ENTER  MR.  DUNKE 83 

VIII.     "WOULD  YOU  WORRY  ABOUT  ME?"  .  93 

IX.     DOWN  THE  JACKRABBIT  SHAFT    .    .  103 

X.     IN  A  TUNNEL  OF  THE  MAL  PAIS  .    .  in 

XI.     THE  SOUTHERNER  TAKES  A  RISK  .    .  123 

XII.     EXIT  DUNKE 132 

XIII.     STEVE  OFFERS  CONGRATULATIONS  .    .  136 

3 


M46338 


4  CONTENTS 

PART   II 

THE  GIRL  IN   LOST  VALLEY 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  IN  THE  FIRE  ZONE 143 

II.  A  COMPACT 155 

III.  INTO  LOST  VALLEY 166 

IV.  THE  WARNING  OF  MANTRAP  GULCH  .  187 
V.  JED  BRISCOE  TAKES  A  HAND  ...  192 

VI.  A  SURE  ENOUGH  WOLF 209 

VII.  THE  ROUND-UP 219 

VIII.  THE  BRONCHO  BUSTERS 226 

IX.  A  SHOT  FROM  BALD  KNOB  ....  238 

X.  Doc  LEE     . 249 

XI.  THE  FAT  IN  THE  FIRE 259 

XII.  THE  DANCE 277 

XIII.  THE  WOLF  HOWLS 288 

XIV.  HOWARD  EXPLAINS 300 

XV.  THE  TEXAN  PAYS  A  VISIT  ....  309 

XVI.  THE  WOLF  BITES 316 

XVII.  ON  THE  ROAD  TO  GIMLET  BUTTE  .    .  327 

XVIII.  A  WITNESS  IN  REBUTTAL    ....  333 


FOREWORD  TO  YE  GENTLE  READER. 

Within  the  memory  of  those  of  us  still  on  the 
sunny  side  of  forty  the  more  remote  West  has 
passed  from  rollicking  boyhood  to  its  responsible 
majority.  The  frontier  has  gone  to  join  the  good 
Indian.  In  place  of  the  ranger  who  patrolled  the 
border  for  "bad  men"  has  come  the  forest  ranger, 
type  of  the  forward  lapping  tide  of  civilization. 
The  place  where  I  write  this — Tucson,  Arizona — 
is  now  essentially  more  civilized  than  New  York. 
Only  at  the  moving  picture  shows  can  the  old  West, 
melodramatically  overpainted,  be  shown  to  the 
manicured  sons  and  daughters  of  those,  still  liv- 
ing, who  brought  law  and  order  to  the  mesquite. 

As  Arthur  Chapman,  the  Western  poet,  has  writ- 
ten: 

No  loopholes  now  are  framing 
Lean   faces,  grim  and  brown; 

No  more  keen  eyes  are  aiming 
To  bring   the   redskin  down. 

The  plough  team's  trappings  jingle 

Across  the  furrowed  field, 
And  sounds  domestic  mingle 

Where  valor  hung  its  shield. 


But  every  wind  careering 
Seems  here  to  breathe  a  song— » 

A  song  of  brave  frontiering-* 
A  saga  of  the  strong. 


part  I 

( !n  Which  Steve  Plays  Second  Fiddle) 
TH  £  MAN  FROM  THE  PANHANDLE 


A  TEXAS  RANGER 


CHAPTER  I 

A  DESERT  MEETING. 


As  she  lay  crouched  in  the  bear-gr^&i  tr^re 
to  the  girl  clearly  the  crunch  of  wheels  over  dis- 
integrated granite.  The  trap  hed  dipped  into  a. 
draw,  but  she  knew  that  presently  it  would  reappear 
on  the  winding  road.  The  knowledge  smote  her 
like  a  blast  of  winter,  sent  chills  racing  down  her 
spine,  and  shook  her  as  with  an  ague.  Only  the 
desperation  of  her  plight  spurred  her  flagging  court 
age. 

Round  the  bend  came  a  pair  of  bays  hitched  to 
a  single-seated  open  rig.  They  were  driven  by  a 
young  man,  and  as  he  reached  the  summit  he  drew 
up  opposite  her  and  looked  down  into  the  valley. 

It  lay  in  a  golden  glow  at  their  feet,  a  basin  of 
pure  light  and  silence  stretching  mile  on  mile  to  the 
distant  edge  of  jagged  mountain-line  which  formed 
its  lip.  Sunlight  strong  as  wine  flooded  a  clean 

13 


14  A.  TEXAS  RANGER 

world,  an  amber  Eden  slumbering  in  an  unbroken, 
hazy  dream  primeval. 

"Don't  move!" 

At  the  summons  the  driver  swung  his  head 
sharply  to  a  picture  he  will  never  forget.  A  young 
woman  was  standing  on  the  bank  at  the  edge  of  the 
road  covering  him  with  a  revolver,  having  appa- 
rently just  stepped  from  behind  the  trunk  of  the 
cottonwood  beside  her.  The  color  had  fled  her 
cheeks  even  to  the  edge  of  the  dull  red-copper  waves 
of  hair,  but  he  could  detect  in  her  slim  young  sup- 
pleness no  doubt  or  uncertainty.  On  the  contrary, 
despite  her  girlish  freshness,  she  looked  very  much 
like  business.  She  was  like  some  young  wild  crea- 
ture of  the  forest  cornered  and  brought  to  bay,  but 
the  very  terror  in  her  soul  rendered  her  more  dan- 
gerous. Of  the  heart  beating  like  a  trip-hammer 
the  gray  unwinking  eyes  that  looked  into  hers  read 
nothing.  She  had  schooled  her  taut  nerves  to 
obedience,  and  they  answered  her  resolute  will 
steadily  despite  fluttering  pulses. 

"Don't  move !"  she  said  again. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  asked  harshly. 

"I  want  your  team,"  she  panted. 

"What  for?" 

"Never  mind.    I  want  it." 

The  rigor  of  his  gaze  slowly  softened  to  a  smile 
compound  both  of  humor  and  grimness.     He  was' 
a  man  to  appreciate  a  piquant  situation,  none  the 
less  because  it  was  at  his  expense.    The  spark  that 


A   TEXAS  RANGER 15 

gleamed  in  his  bold  eye  held  some  spice  of  the 
devil. 

"All  right.  This  is  your  hold-up,  ma'am.  1*11 
not  move,"  he  said,  almost  genially. 

She  was  uneasily  aware  that  his  -surrender  had 
been  too  tame.  Strength  lay  in  that  close-gripped 
salient  jaw,  in  every  line  of  the  reckless  sardonic 
face,  in  the  set  of  the  lean  muscular  shoulders. 
She  had  nerved  herself  to  meet  resistance,  and  in- 
stead he  was  yielding  with  complacent  good  nature. 

"Get  out!"  she  commanded. 

He  stepped  from  the  rig  and  offered  her  the  reins. 
As  she  reached  for  them  his  right  hand  shot  out 
and  caught  the  wrist  that  held  the  weapon,  his  left 
encircled  her  waist  and  drew  her  to  him.  She  gave 
a  little  cry  of  fear  and  strained  from  him,  righting 
with  all  her  lissom  strength  to  free  herself. 

For  all  the  impression  she  made  the  girdle  round 
her  waist  might  have  been  of  steel.  Without  mov- 
ing, he  held  her  as  she  struggled,  his  brown  mus- 
cular fingers  slowly  tightening  round  her  wrist. 
Her  stifled  cry  was  of  pain  this  time,  and  before  it 
had  died  the  revolver  fell  to  the  ground  from  her 
paralyzed  grip. 

But  her  exclamation  had  been  involuntary  and 
born  of  the  soft  tender  flesh.  The  wild  eyes  that 
flamed  into  his  asked  for  no  quarter  and  received 
none.  He  drew  her  slowly  down  toward  him,  inch 
by  inch,  till  she  lay  crushed  and  panting  against 
him,  but  still  uncc*K|ftered.  Though  he  held  the 


16  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

stiff  resistant  figure  motionless  she  still  flashed  bat- 
tle at  him. 

He  looked  into  the  storm  and  fury  of  her  face, 
hiding  he  knew  not  what  of  terror,  and  laughed  in 
insolent  delight.  Then,  very  deliberately,  he 
kissed  her  lips. 

"You — coward!"  came  instantly  her  choking  de- 
fiance. 

"Another  for  that,"  he  laughed,  kissing  her 
again. 

Her  little  fist  beat  against  his  face  and  he  cap- 
tured it,  but  as  he  looked  at  her  something  that 
had  .come  into  the  girl's  face  moved  his  not  very 
accessible  heart.  The  salt  of  the  adventure  was 
gone,  his  victory  worse  than  a  barren  one.  For 
stark  fear  stared  at  him,  naked  and  unconcealed, 
and  back  of  that  he  glimpsed  a  subtle  something 
that  he  dimly  recognized  for  the  outraged  maidenly 
modesty  he  had  so  ruthlessly  trampled  upon.  His 
hands  fell  to  his  side  reluctantly. 

She  stumbled  back  against  the  tree  trunk,  watch- 
ing him  with  fascinated  eyes  that  searched  him 
anxiously.  They  found  their  answer,  and  with  a 
long  ragged  breath  the  girl  turned  and  burst  into 
hysterical  tears. 

The  man  was  amazed.  A  moment  since  the  fury 
of  a  tigress  had  possessed  her.  Now  she  was  all 
weak  womanish  despair.  She  leaned  against  the 
cottonwood  and  buried  her  face  in  her  arm,  the 
while  uneven  sobs  shook  her  slender  body.  He 


A    TEXAS  RANGER 17 

frowned  resentfully  at  this  change  of  front,  and 
because  his  calloused  conscience  was  disturbed  he 
began  to  justify  himself.  Why  didn't  she  play  it 
out  instead  of  coming  the  baby  act  on  him?  She 
had  undertaken  to  hold  him  up  and -he  had  made 
her  pay  forfeit.  He  didn't  see  that  she  had  any 
kick  coming.  If  she  was  this  kind  of  a  boarding- 
school  kid  she  ought  not  to  have  monkeyed  with 
the  buzz-saw.  She  was  lucky  he  didn't  take  her  to 
El  Paso  with  him  and  have  her  jailed. 

"I  reckon  we'll  listen  to  explanations  now,"'  he 
said  grimly  after  a  minute  of  silence  interrupted 
only  by  her  sobs. 

The  little  fist  that  had  struck  at  his  face  now 
bruised  itself  in  unconscious  blows  at  the  bark  of 
the  tree.  He  waited  till  the  staccato  breaths  had 
subsided,  then  took  her  by  the  shoulders  and  swung 
her  round. 

"You  have  the  floor,  ma'am.  What  does  this 
gun-play  business  mean?" 

Through  the  tears  her  angry  eyes  flashed  star- 
like. 

"I  sba'n't  tell  you,"  she  flamed.  "You  had  no 

right  to How  dared  you  insult  me  as  you 

have?" 

"Did  I  insult  you?"  he  asked,  with  suave  gentle- 
ness. "Then  if  you  feel  insulted  I  expect  you  lay 
claim  to  being  a  lady.  But  I  reckon  that  don't  fit 
in  with  holding  up  strangers  at  the  end  of  a  gun. 
If  Fve  insulted  you  I'll  ce'tainly  apologize,  but 


18  A    TEXAS  RANGER " 

you'll  have  to  show  me  I  have.     We're  in  Texas, 
which  is  next  door  but  one  to  Missouri,  ma'am." 

"I  don't  want  your  apologies.  I  detest  and  hate 
you,"  she  cried. 

"That's  your  privilege,  ma'am,  and  it's  mine  to 
know  whyfor  I'm  held  up  with  a  gun  when  I'm 
traveling  peaceably  along  the  road,"  he  answered 
evenly. 

"I'll  not  tell  you." 

He  spoke  softly  as  if  to  himself.  "That's  too 
bad.  I  kinder  hate  to  take  her  to  jail,  but  I  reckon 
I  must." 

She  shrank  back,  aghast  and  white. 

"No,  no !    You  don't  understand.    I  didn't  mean 

to — I  only  wanted Why,  I  meant  to  pay  you 

for  the  team." 

"I'll  understand  when  you  tell  me,"  he  said 
placidly. 

"I've  told  you.  I  needed  the  team.  I  was  going 
to  let  you  have  one  of  our  horses  and  seventy-five 
dollars.  It's  all  I  have  with  me." 

"One  of  your  horses,  you  say?  With  seventy- 
five  dollars  to  boot?  And  you  was  intending  to 
arrange  the  trade  from  behind  that  gun.  I  expect 
you  needed  a  team  right  bad." 

His  steady  eyes  rested  on  her,  searched  her,  ap- 
praised her,  while  he  meditated  aloud  in  a  low  easy 
drawl. 

"Yes,  you  ce'tainly  must  need  the  team.  Now.l 
wonder  why?  Well,  I'd  hate  to  refuse  a  lady  any- 


A    TEXAS  RANGER 19 

thing  she  wants  as  bad  as  you  do  that."  He  swiftly 
swooped  down  and  caught  up  her  revolver  from  the 
ground,  tossed  it  into  the  air  so  as  to  shift  his  hold 
from  butt  to  barrel,  and  handed  it  to  her  with  a 
bow.  "Allow  me  to  return  the  -pop-gun  you 
dropped,  ma'am." 

She  snatched  it  from  him  and  leveled  it  at  him 
so  that  it  almost  touched  his  forehead.  He  looked 
at  her  and  laughed  in  delighted  mockery. 

"All  serene,  ma'am.  You've  got  me  dead  to 
rights  again." 

His  very  nonchalance  disarmed  her.  What  could 
she  do  while  his  low  laughter  mocked  her? 

"When  you've  gone  through  me  complete  I  think 
I'll  take  a  little  pasear  over  the  hill  and  have  a  look 
at  your  hawss.  Mebbe  we  might  still  do  business." 

As  he  had  anticipated,  his  suggestion  filled  her 
with  alarm.  She  flew  to  bar  the  way. 

"You  can't  go.    It  isn't  necessary." 

"Sho!  Of  course  it's  necessary.  Think  Fm 
going  to  buy  a  hawss  I've  never  seen?"  he  asked, 
with  deep  innocence. 

"I'll  bring  it  here." 

"In  Texas,  ma'am,  we  wait  on  the  ladies.  Still, 
it's  your  say-so  when  you're  behind  that  big  gun." 

He  said  it  laughing,  and  she  threw  the  weapon 
angrily  into  the  seat  of  the  rig. 

"Thank  you,  ma'am.  I'll  amble  down  and  see 
what's  behind  the  hill." 

By  the  flinch  in  her  eyes  he  tested  his  center  shot 


20  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

and  knew  it  true.  Her  breast  was  rising-  and  fall- 
ing tumultuously.  A  shiver  ran  through  her. 

"No — no.  I'm  not  hiding — anything/'  she 
gasped. 

"Then  if  you're  not  you  can't  object  to  my  going 
there." 

She  caught  her  hands  together  in  despair.  There 
was  about  him  something  masterful  that  told  her 
she  could  not  prevent  him  from  investigating;  and 
it  was  impossible  to  guess  how  he  would  act  after 
he  knew.  The  men  she  had  known  had  been  bound 
by  convention  to  respect  a  woman's  wishes,  but 
even  her  ignorance  of  his  type  made  guess  that  this 
steel-eyed,  close-knit  young  Westerner — or  was  he 
a  Southerner? — would  be  impervious  to  appeals 
founded  upon  the  rules  of  the  society  to  which  she 
had  been  accustomed.  A  glance  at  his  stone-wall 
face,  at  the  lazy  confidence  of  his  manner,  made  her 
dismally  aware  that  the  data  gathered  by  her  ex- 
perience of  the  masculine  gender  were  insufficient 
to  cover  this  specimen. 

"You  can't  go." 

But  her  imperative  refusal  was  an  appeal.  For 
though  she  hated  him  from  the  depths  of  her  proud, 
untamed  heart  for  the  humiliation  he  had  put  upon 
her,  yet  for  the  sake  of  that  ferocious  hunted  ani- 
mal she  had  left  lying  under  a  cottonwood  she 
must  bend  her  spirit  to  win  him. 

"I'm  going  to  sit  in  this  game  and  see  it  out," 
he  said,  not  unkindly. 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  21 

"Please!" 

Her  sweet  slenderness  barred  the  way  about  as 
effectively  as  a  mother  quail  does  the  road  to  her 
young.  He  smiled,  put  his  big  hands  on  her  elbows, 
and  gently  lifted  her  to  one  side.  Then  he  strode 
forward  lightly,  with  the  long,  easy,  tireless  stride 
of  a  beast  of  prey,  striking  direct  for  his  quarry. 

A  bullet  whizzed  by  his  ear,  and  like  a  flash  of 
light  his  weapon  was  unscabbarded  and  ready  for 
action.  He  felt  a  flame  of  fire  scorch  his  cheek 
and  knew  a  second  shot  had  grazed  him. 

"Hands  up!    Quick!"  ordered  the  traveler. 

Lying  on  the  ground  before  him  was  a  man  with 
close-cropped  hair  and  a  villainous  scarred  face.  A 
revolver  in  his  hand  showed  the  source  of  the  bul- 
lets. 

Eye  to  eye  the  men  measured  strength,  fighting 
out  to  the  last  ditch  the  moral  battle  which  was  t® 
determine  the  physical  one.  Sullenly,  at  the  last, 
the  one  on  the  ground  shifted  his  gaze  and  dropped 
his  gun  with  a  vile  curse. 

"Run  to  earth,"  he  snarled,  his  lip  lifting  from 
the  tobacco-stained  upper  teeth  in  an  ugly  fashion. 

The  girl  ran  toward  the  Westerner  and  caught 
at  his  arm.  "Don't  shoot,"  she  implored. 

Without  moving  his  eyes  from  the  man  on  the 
ground  he  swept  her  back. 

"This  outfit  is  too  prevalent  with  its  hardware," 
lie  growled.  "Chew  out  an  explanation,  my  friend, 
er  you're  liable  to  get  spoiled." 


22 A    TEXAS  RANGER 

It  was  the  girl  that  spoke,  in  a  low  voice  and 
very  evidently  under  a  tense  excitement. 

"He  is  my  brother  and  he  has — hurt  himself. 
He  can't  ride  any  farther  and  we  have  seventy 
miles  still  to  travel.  We  didn't  know  what  to  do, 
and  so " 

"You  started  out  to  be  a  road-agent  and  he  took 
a  pot-shot  at  the  first  person  he  saw.  I'm  surely 
obliged  to  you  both  for  taking  so  much  interest  in 
me,  or  rather  in  my  team.  Robbery  and  murder 
are  quite  a  family  pastime,  ain't  they?" 

The  girl  went  white  as  snow,  seemed  to  shrink 
before  his  sneer  as  from  a  deadly  weapon;  and  like 
a  flash  of  light  some  divination  of  the  truth  pierced 
the  Westerner's  brain.  They  were  fugitives  from 
justice,  making  for  the  Mexican  line.  That  the 
man  was  wounded  a  single  glance  had  told  him. 
It  was  plain  to  be  seen  that  the  wear  and  tear  of 
keeping  the  saddle  had  been  too  much  for  him. 

"I  acted  on  an  impulse,"  the  girl  explained  in 
the  same  low  tone.  "I  saw  you  coming  and  I  didn't 
know — hadn't  money  enough  to  buy  the  team — 
besides " 

He  took  the  words  out  of  her  mouth  when  she 
broke  down. 

"Besides,  I  might  have  happened  to  be  a  sheriff. 
I  might  be,  but  then  I'm  not/' 

The  traveler  stepped  forward  and  kicked  the 
wounded  man's  revolver  beyond  his  reach,  then 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  25 

swiftly  ran  a  hand  over  him  to  make  sure  he  car- 
ried no  other  gun. 

The  fellow  on  the  ground  eyed  him  furtively. 
"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me?"  he  growled. 

The  other  addressed  himself  to  the. girl,  ignoring 
him  utterly. 

"What  has  this  man  done?" 

"He  has — broken  out  from — from  prison." 

"Where?" 

"At  Yuma." 

"Damn  you,  you're  snitching,"  interrupted  the 
criminal  in  a  scream  that  was  both  wheedling  and 
threatening. 

The  young  man  put  his  foot  on  the  burly  neck 
and  calmly  ground  it  into  the  dust.  Otherwise  he 
paid  no  attention  to  him,  but  held  the  burning  eyes 
of  the  girl  that  stared  at  him  from  a  bloodless 
face. 

"What  was  he  in  for?" 

"For  holding  up  a  train." 

She  had  answered  in  spite  of  herself,  by  reason 
of  something  compelling  in  him  that  drew  the  truth 
from  her. 

"How  long  has  he  been  in  the  penitentiary?" 

"Seven  years."  Then,  miserably,  she  added: 
"He  was  weak  and  fell  into  bad  company.  They 
led  him  into  it." 

"When  did  he  escape?" 

"Two  days  ago.    Last  night  he  knocked  at  my 


24  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

window — at  the  window  of  the  room  where  I  lodge 
in  Fort  Lincoln.  I  had  not  heard  of  his  escape,  but 
I  took  him  in.  There  were  horses  in  the  barn.  One 
of  them  was  mine.  I  saddled,  and  after  I  had 
dressed  his  wound  we  started.  He  couldn't  get  any 
farther  than  this." 

"Do  you  live  in  Fort  Lincoln?" 

"I  came  there  to  teach  school.  My  home  was 
in  Wisconsin  before." 

"You  came  out  here  to  be  near  him  ?" 

"Yes.  That  is,  near  as  I  could  get  a  school.  I 
was  to  have  got  in  the  Tucson  schools  next  year. 
That's  much  nearer." 

"You  visited  him  at  the  penitentiary?" 

"No.  I  was  going  to  during  the  Thanksgiving 
vacation.  Until  last  night  I  had  not  seen  him  since 
he  left  home.  I  was  a  child  of  seven  then." 

The  Texan  looked  down  at  the  ruffian  under  his 
feet. 

"Do  you  know  the  road  to  Mexico  by  the  Ari- 
vaca  cut-off?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  climb  into  my  rig  and  hit  the  trail  hard — 
burn  it  up  till  you've  crossed  the  line." 

The  fellow  began  to  whine  thanks,  but  the  man 
above  would  have  none  of  them.  "I'm  giving  you 
this  chance  for  your  sister's  sake.  You  won't  make 
anything  of  it.  You're  born  for  meanness  and  dev- 
iltry. I  know  your  kind  from  El  Paso  to  Dawsoa. 
But  she's  game  and  she's  white  clear  through,  even 


A   TEXAS  RANGER 25 

if  she  is  your  sister  and  a  plumb  little  fool.  Can 
you  walk  to  the  road?"  he  ended  abruptly. 

"I  think  so.  It's  in  my  ankle.  Some  hell-hound 
gave  it  me  while  we  were  getting  over  the  wall/' 
the  fellow  growled.  . 

"Don't  blame  him.  His  intentions  were  good. 
He  meant  to  blow  out  your  brains." 

The  convict  cursed  vilely,  but  in  the  midst  of  his 
impotent  rage  the  other  stopped  and  dragged  him 
to  his  feet. 

"That's  enough.  You  padlock  that  ugly  mouth 
and  light  a  shuck." 

The  girl  came  forward  and  the  man  leaned  heav- 
ily on  her  as  he  limped  to  the  road.  The  Texan  fol- 
lowed with  the  buckskin  she  had  been  riding  and 
tied  it  to  the  back  of  the  road-wagon. 

"Give  me  my  purse,"  the  girl  said  to  the  convict 
after  they  were  seated. 

She  emptied  it  and  handed  the  roll  of  bills  it 
contained  to  the  owner  of  the  team.  He  looked  at 
it  and  at  her,  then  shook  his  head. 

"You'll  need  it  likely.  I  reckon  I  can  trust  you. 
Schoolmarms  are  mostly  reliable." 

"I  had  rather  pay  now,"  she  answered  tartly. 

"What's  the  rush?" 

"I  prefer  to  settle  with  you  now." 

"All  right,  but  I'm  in  no  sweat  for  my  money. 
My  team  and  the  wagon  are  worth  two  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars.  Put  this  plug  at  forty  and  it 
would  be  high."  He  jerked  his  head  toward  the 


A    TEXAS  RANGER 


brush  where  the  other  saddle-horse  was.  "That 
leaves  me  a  balance  of  about  two  hundred  and  ten. 
Is  that  fair?" 

She  bit  her  lip  in  vexation.  "I  expect  so,  but  I 
haven't  that  much  with  me.  Can't  I  pay  this  seventy 
on  account?" 

\     "No,  ma'am,  you  can't.     All  or  none."     There 
1  was  a  gleam  of  humor  in  his  hard  eyes.    "I  reckon 
•'  you  better  let  me  come  and  collect  after  you  get 
back  to  Fort  Lincoln." 

She  took  out  a  note-book  and  pencil.  "If  you 
will  give  me  your  name  and  address  please." 

He  smiled  hardily  at  her.  "I've  clean  forgotten 
them." 

There  was  a  warning  flash  in  her  disdainful  eye. 

"Just  as  you  like.  My  name  is  Margaret  Kinney. 
I  will  leave  the  money  for  you  at  the  First  National 
Bank." 

She  gathered  up  the  rains  deftly. 

"One  moment."  He  laid  a  hand  on  the  line*. 
"I  reckon  you  think  I  owe  you  an  apology  for  what 
happened  when  we  first  met." 

A  flood  of  spreading  color  dyed  her  cheeks.  "I 
don't  think  anything  about  it." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do,"  he  contradicted.  "And 
you're  going  to  think  a  heap  more  about  it.  You're 
going  to  lay  awake  nights  going  over  it." 

Out  of  eyes  like  live  coals  she  gave  him  one  look. 
"Will  you  take  your  hands  from  these  reins 
please?" 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  27 

"Presently.  Just  now  I'm  talking  and  you're 
listening." 

"I  don't  care  to  hear  any  apologies,  sir,"  she  said 
stiffly. 

"I'm  not  offering  any,"  he  laughed,  yet  stung 
by  her  words. 

"You're  merely  insulting  me  again,  I  pre- 
sume?" 

"Some  young  women  need  punishing.  I  expect 
you're  one." 

She  handed  him  the  horsewhip,  a  sudden  pulse 
of  passion  beating  fiercely  in  her  throat.  "Very 
well.  Make  an  end  of  it  and  let  me  see  the  last  of 
you,"  she  challenged. 

He  cracked  the  lash  expertly  so  that  the  horses 
quivered  and  would  have  started  if  his  strong  hand 
had  not  tightened  on  the  lines. 

The  Westerner  laughed  again.  "You're  game 
anyhow." 

"When  you  are  quite  through  with  me,"  she  sug- 
gested, very  quietly. 

But  he  noticed  the  fury  of  her  deep-pupiled  eyes, 
the  turbulent  rise  and  fall  of  her  bosom. 

"I'll  not  punish  you  that  way  this  time."  And  he 
gave  back  the  whip. 

"If  you  won't  use  it  I  will." 

The  lash  flashed  up  and  down,  twined  itself 
savagely  round  his  wrist,  and  left  behind  a  bracelet 
of  crimson.  Startled,  the  horses  leaped  forward. 
The  reins  slipped  free  from  his  numbed  fingers. 


28 *A    TEXAS  RANGER 

Miss  Kinney  had  made  her  good-by  and  was  de- 
scending swiftly  into  the  valley. 

The  man  watched  the  rig  sweep  along  that  branch 
of  the  road  which  led  to  the  south.  Then  he  looked 
at  his  wrist  and  laughed. 

"The  plucky  little  devil!  She's  a  thoroughbred 
for  fair.  You  bet  I'll  make  her  pay  for  this.  But 
ain't  she  got  sand  in  her  craw  ?  She's  surely  hating 
me  proper."  He  laughed  again  in  remembrance 
of  the  whole  episode,  finding  in  it  something  that 
stirred  his  blood  immensely. 

After  the  trap  had  swept  round  a  curve  out  of 
sight  he  disappeared  in  the  mesquite  and  bear-grass, 
presently  returning  with  the  roan  that  had  been 
ridden  by  the  escaped  convict. 

"Whoever  would  suppose  she  was  the  sister  of 
that  scurvy  scalawag  with  jailbird  branded  all  over 
his  hulking  hide?  He  ain't  fit  to  wipe  her  little 
feet  on.  She's  as  fine  as  silk.  Think  of  her  going 
through  what  she  is  to  save  that  coyote,  and  him 
as  crooked  as  a  dog's  hind  leg.  There  ain't  any 
limit  to  what  a  good  woman  will  do  for  a  man  when 
she  thinks  he's  got  a  claim  on  her,  more  especially 
if  he's  a  ruffian." 

With  this  bit  of  philosophic  observation  he  rolled 
a  cigarette  and  lit  it. 

"Him  fall  into  bad  company  and  be  led  away?'* 
he  added  in  disgust.  "There  ain't  any  worse  than 
him.  But  he'll  work  her  to  the  limit  before  she 
finds  it  out." 


a  ^  TEXAS  RANGER '  29 

k  Leisurely  he  swung  to  the  saddle  and  rode  down 
into  the  valley  of  the  San  Xavier,  which  rolled  away 
from  his  feet  in  numberless  tawny  waves  of  un- 
featured  foot-hills  and  mesas  and  washes.  Almost 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  see  there  stretched  a  sea  of 
hilltops  bathed  in  sun.  Only  on  the  west  were  they 
bounded,  by  the  irregular  saw-toothed  edge  of  the 
Frenchman  Hills,  silhouetted  against  an  incompar- 
able blue.  For  a  stretch  of  many  miles  the  side  of 
the  range  was  painted  scarlet  by  millions  of  poppies 
splashed  broadcast. 

"Nature's  gone  to  flower-gardening  for  fair  on 
the  mountains,'"1  murmured  the  rider.  "What  with 
one  thing  and  another  I've  got  a  notion  I'm  going 
to  take  a  liking  to  this  country." 

The  roan  was  plainly  very  tired  with  rapid  travel, 
amd  about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  the  young 
man  unsaddled  and  picketed  the  animal  near  a 
water-hole.  He  lay  down  in  the  shadow  of  a  cot- 
tonwood,  flat  on  his  back,  face  upturned  to  the  deep 
cobalt  sky.  Presently  the  drowse  of  the  afternoon 
crept  over  him.  The  slumberous  valley  grew  hazy 
;  to  his  nodding  eyes.  The  reluctant  lids  ceased  to 
open  and  he  ?;zs  fast  asleep. 


CHAPTER  II 

LIEUTENANT  FRASER  INTERFERES. 

The  sun  had  declined  almost  to  a  saddle  in  the 
Cuesta  del  Burro  when  the  sleeper  reopened  his 
eyes.  Even  before  he  had  shaken  himself  free  of 
sleep  he  was  uneasily  aware  of  something  wrong. 
Hazily  the  sound  of  voices  drifted  to  him  across 
an  immense  space.  Blurred  figures  crossed  before 
his  unfocused  gaze. 

The  first  thing  he  saw  clearly  was  the  roan,  still 
grazing  in  the  circle  of  its  picket-rope.  Beside  the 
bronco  were  two  men  looking  the  animal  over  crit- 
ically. 

"Been  going  some,"  he  heard  one  remark,  point- 
ing at  the  same  time  to  the  sweat-stains  that  streaked 
the  shoulders  and  flanks. 

"If  he  had  me  on  his  back  he'd  still  be  burning 
the  wind,  me  being  in  his  boots,"  returned  the  sec- 
ond, with  a  grating  laugh,  jerking  his  head  toward 
the  sleeper.  "Whatever  led  the  durned  fool  to  stop 
this  side  of  the  line  beats  me." 

"If  he  was  hiking  for  Chihuahua  he's  been  hit- 
ting a  mighty  crooked  trail.  I  don't  savvy  it,  him 

30 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  31 

knowing  the  country  as  well  as  they  say  he  does/' 
the  first  speaker  made  answer. 

The  traveler's  circling  eye  now  discovered  two 
more  men,  each  of  them  covering  him  with  a  rifle. 
A  voice  from  the  rear  assured  him  there  was  also  a 
fifth  member  to  the  party. 

"Look  out!    He's  awake,"  it  warned. 

The  young  man's  hand  inadvertently  moved  to- 
ward his  revolver-butt.  This  drew  a  sharp  impera- 
tive order  from  one  of  the  men  in  front. 

"Throw  up  your  hands,  and  damn  quick!" 

"You  seem  to  have  the  call,  gentlemen,"  he 
smiled.  "Would  you  mind  telling  me  what  it's  all 
about?" 

"You  know  what  it's  all  about  as  well  as  we  do. 
Collect  his  gun,  Tom." 

"This  hold-up  business  seems  to  be  a  habit  in  this 
section.  Second  time  to-day  I've  been  the  victim 
of  it,"  said  the  victim  easily. 

"It  will  be  the  last,"  retorted  one  of  the  men 
grimly. 

"If  you're  after  the  mazuma  you've  struck  a  poor 
bank." 

"You've  got  your  nerve,"  cried  one  of  the  men 
in  a  rage ;  and  another  demanded :  "  Whera  did  you 
get  that  hawss?" 

"Why,  I  got  it "  The  young  man  stopped 

in  the  middle  of  his  sentence.  His  jaw  clamped 
and  his  eyes  grew  hard.  "I  expect  you  better  ex- 
plain what  right  you  got  to  ask  that  question.** 


32 A   TEXAS  RANGER 

The  man  laughed  without  cordiality.  "Seeing  as 
I  have  owned  it  three  years  I  allow  I  have  some 
right." 

"What's  the  use  of  talking?  He's  the  man  we 
want,"  broke  in  another  impatiently. 

"Who  is  the  man  you  want?"  asked  their  pris- 
oner. 

"You're  the  man  we  want,  Jim  Kinney." 

"Wrong  guess.  My  name  is  Larry  Neill.  I'm 
from  the  Panhandle  and  I've  never  been  in  this  part 
of  the  country  till  two  days  ago." 

"You  may  have  a  dozen  names.  We  don't  care 
what  you  call  yourself.  Of  course  you  would  deny 
being  the  man  we're  after.  But  that  don't  go  with 


us." 


"All  right.  Take  me  back  to  Fort  Lincoln,  or 
take  me  to  the  prison  officials.  They  will  tell  you 
whether  I  am  the  man." 

The  leader  of  the  party  pounced  on  his  slip. 
"Who  mentioned  prison  ?  Who  told  you  we  wanted 
an  escaped  prisoner?" 

"He's  give  himself  away,"  triumphed  the  one 
called  Tom.  "I  guess  that  clinches  it.  He's  riding 
Maloney's  hawss.  He's  wounded;  so's  the  man  we 
want.  He  answers  the  description — gray  eyes,  tall, 
slim,  muscular.  Same  gun — automatic  Colt.  Tell 
you  there's  nothin'  to  it,  Duffield." 

"If  you're  not  Kinney,  how  come  you  with  this 
hawss?  He  stole  it  from  a  barn  in  Fort  Lincoln 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  33 

last  night.  That's  known,"  said  the  leader,  Duf- 
field. 

The  imperilled  man  thought  of  the  girl  flying 
toward  the  border  with  her  brother  and  the  remem- 
brance padlocked  his  tongue. 

"Take  me  to  the  proper  authorities  and  I'll  an- 
swer questions.  But  I'll  not  talk  here.  What's 
the  use  ?  You  don't  believe  a  word  I  say." 

"You  spoke  the  truth  that  time,"  said  one. 

"If  you  ever  want  to  do  any  explaining  now's  the, 
hour,"  added  another. 

"I'll  do  mine  later,  gentlemen." 

They  looked  at  each  other  and  one  of  them  spoke. 

"It  will  be  too  late  to  explain  them." 

"Too  late?" 

Some  inkling  of  the  man's  hideous  meaning 
seared  him  and  ran  like  an  ice-blast  through  him. 

"You've  done  all  the  meanness  you'll  ever  do 
in  this  world.  Poor  Dave  Long  is  the  last  man 
you'll  ever  kill.  We're  going  to  do  justice  right 


now." 


"Dave  Long!  I  never  heard  of  him,"  the  pris- 
oner repeated  mechanically.  "Good  God,  do  you 
think  I'm  a  murderer?" 

One  of  the  men  thrust  himself  forward.  "We 
know  it.  Y'u  and  that  hellish  partner  of  yours 
shot  him  while  he  was  locking  the  gate.  But  y'u 
made  a  mistake  when  y'u  come  to  Fort  Lincoln. 
He  lived  there  before  he  went  to  be  a  guard  at  the 


34  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

Arizona  penitentiary.  I'm  his  brother.  These  gen- 
tlemen are  his  neighbors.  YVre  not  going  back 
to  prison.  Y'u're  going  to  stay  right  here  under 
this  cottonwood." 

If  the  extraordinary  menace  of  the  man  appalled 
Neill  he  gave  no  sign  of  it.  His  gray  eye  passed 
from  one  to  another  of  them  quietly  without  giv- 
ing any  sign  of  the  impotent  tempest  raging  within 
him. 

"You're  going  to  lynch  me  then?" 

"Y'u've  called  the  turn." 

"Without  giving  me  a  chance  to  prove  my  inno- 
cence ?" 

"Without  giving  y'u  a  chance  to  escape  or  sneak 
back  to  the  penitentiary." 

The  thing  was  horribly  unthinkable.  The  warm 
mellow  afternoon  sunshine  wrapped  them  about. 
The  horses  grazed  with  quiet  unconcern.  One  of 
these  hard-faced  frontiersmen  was  chewing  tobacco 
with  machinelike  regularity.  Another  was  rolling 
a  cigarette.  There  was  nothing  of  dramatic  effect. 
Not  a  man  had  raised  his  voice.  But  Neill  knew 
there  was  no  appeal.  He  had  come  to  the  end  of 
the  passage  through  a  horrible  mistake.  He  raged 
in  bitter  resentment  against  his  fate,  against  these 
men  who  stood  so  quietly  about  him  ready  to  exe- 
cute it,  most  of  all  against  the  girl  who  had  let  him 
sacrifice  himself  by  concealing  the  vital  fact  that 
her  brother  had  murdered  a  guard  to  effect  his  es- 


A   TEXAS  RANGER 35 

cape.  Fool  that  he  had  been,  he  had  stumbled  into 
a  trap,  and  she  had  let  him  do  it  without  a  word 
of  warning.  Wild,  chaotic  thoughts  crowded  his 
brain  furiously. 

But  the  voice  with  which  he  addressed  them  was 
singularly  even  and  colorless. 

"I  am  a  stranger  to  this  country.  I  was  born  in 
Tennessee,  brought  up  in  the  Panhandle.  I'm  an 
irrigation  engineer  by  profession.  This  is  my  vaca- 
tion. I'm  headed  now  for  the  Mai  Pais  mines. 
Friends  of  mine  are  interested  in  a  property  there 
with  me  and  I  have  been  sent  to  look  the  ground 
over  and  make  a  report.  I  never  heard  of  Kinney 
till  to-day.  You've  got  the  wrong  man,  gentle- 
men." 

"We'll  risk  it,"  laughed  one  brutally.  "Bring 
that  riata,  Tom." 

Neill  did  not  struggle  or  cry  out  frantically.  He 
stood  motionless  while  they  adjusted  the  rope  round 
his  bronzed  throat.  They  had  judged  him  for  a  vil- 
lain ;  they  should  at  least  know  him  a  man.  So  he 
stood  there  straight  and  lithe,  wide-shouldered  and 
lean-flanked,  a  man  in  a  thousand.  Not  a  twitch 
of  the  well-packed  muscles,  not  a  quiver  of  the  eye« 
lash  nor  a  swelling  of  the  throat  betrayed  any  fear. 
His  cool  eyes  were  quiet  and  steady. 

"If  you  want  to  leave  any  message  for  anybody 
I'll  see  it's  delivered/'  promised  DuffiekL 

"I'll  not  trouble  you  with  any." 


36 A    TEXAS  RANGER 

"Just  as  you  like." 

"He  didn't  give  poor  Dave  any  time  for  mes- 
sages," cried  Tom  Long  bitterly. 

"That's  right,"  assented  another  with  a  curse. 

It  was  plain  to  the  victim  they  were  spurring 
their  nerves  to  hardihood. 

"Who's  that?"  cried  one  of  the  men,  pointing 
to  a  rider  galloping  toward  them. 

The  newcomer  approached  rapidly,  covered  by 
their  weapons,  and  flung  himself  from  his  pony  as 
he  dragged  it  to  a  halt  beside  the  group. 

"Steve  Fraser,"  cried  Duffield  in  surprise,  and 
added,  "He's  an  officer  in  the  rangers." 

"Right,  gentlemen.  Come  to  claim  my  pris- 
oner," said  the  ranger  promptly. 

"Y'u  can't  have  him,  Steve.  We  took  him  and 
he's  got  to  hang." 

The  lieutenant  of  rangers  shook  his  dark  curly 
head. 

"Won't  do,  Duffield.  Won't  do  at  all,"  he  said 
decisively.  "You'd  ought  to  know  law's  on  top  in 
Texas  these  days." 

Tom  Long  shouldered  his  way  to  the  front. 
"Law!  Where  was  the  law  when  this  ruffian  Kin- 
ney  shot  down  my  poor  brother  Dave?  I  guess  a 
rope  and  a  cottonwood's  good  enough  law  for  him. 
Anyhow,  that's  what  he  gits." 

Fraser,  hard-packed,  lithe,  and  graceful,  laid  a 
friendly  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder  and  smiled 
sunnily  at  him. 


A   TEXAS  RANGER 37 

"I  know  how  you  feel,  Tom.  We  all  thought  a 
heap  of  Dave  and  you're  his  brother.  But  Dave 
died  for  the  law.  Both  you  boys  have  always  stood 
for  order.  He'd  be  troubled  if  he  knew  you  were 
turned  enemy  to  it  on  his  account." 

"I'm  for  justice,  Steve.  This  skunk  deserves 
death  and  I'm  going  to  see  he  gits  it." 

"No,  Tom." 

"I  say  yes.  Y'u  ain't  sitting  in  this  game, 
Steve." 

"I  reckon  I'll  have  to  take  a  hand  then." 

The  ranger's  voice  was  soft  and  drawling,  but 
his  eyes  were  indomitably  steady.  Throughout  the 
Southwest  his  reputation  for  fearlessness  was  es- 
tablished even  among  a  population  singularly  cour- 
ageous. The  audacity  of  his  daredevil  recklessness; 
was  become  a  proverb. 

"We  got  a  full  table.  Better  ride  away  and  for- 
get it,"  said  another. 

"That  ain't  what  I'm  paid  for,  Jack,"  returned 
Fraser  good-naturedly.  "Better  turn  him  over  to 
me  peaceable,  boys.  He'll  get  what's  coming  to 
him  all  right." 

"He'll  get  it  now,  Steve,  without  any  help  of 
yours.  We  don't  aim  to  allow  any  butting  in." 

"Don't  you?" 

There  was  a  flash  of  steel  as  the  ranger  dived 
forward.  Next  instant  he  and  the  prisoner  stood 
with  their  backs  to  the  cottonwood,  a  revolver 
taving  somehow  leaped  from  its  scabbard  to  his 


38 A    TEXAS  RANGER 

hand.  His  hunting-knife  had  sheared  at  a  stroke 
the  riata  round  the  engineer's  neck. 

"Take  it  easy,  boys,"  urged  Fraser,  still  in  his 
gentle  drawl,  to  the  astonished  vigilantes  whom  his 
sudden  sally  had  robbed  of  their  victim.  "Think 
about  it  twice.  We'll  all  be  a  long  time  dead.  No 
use  in  hurrying  the  funerals." 

Nevertheless  he  recognized  battle  as  inevitable. 
Friends  of  his  though  they  were,  he  knew  these 
sturdy  plainsmen  would  never  submit  to  be  foiled 
in  their  purpose  by  one  man.  In  the  momentary 
silence  before  the  clash  the  quiet  voice  of  the  pris- 
oner made  itself  heard. 

"Just  a  moment,  gentlemen.  I  don't  want  you 
spilling  lead  over  me.  I'm  the  wrong  man,  and  I 
can  prove  it  if  you'll  give  me  time.  Here's  the  key 
to  my  room  at  the  hotel  in  San  Antonio.  In  my 
suit-case  you'll  find  letters  that  prove " 

"We  don't  need  them.  I've  got  proof  right 
here,"  cut  in  Fraser,  remembering. 

He  slipped  a  hand  into  his  coat  pocket  and  drew 
out  two  photographs.  "Boys,  here  are  the  pictures 
and  descriptions  of  the  two  men  that  escaped  from 
Yuma  the  other  day.  I  hadn't  had  time  to  see  this 
gentleman  before  he  spoke,  being  some  busy  ex- 
plaining the  situation  to  you,  but  a  blind  jackass 
could  see  he  don't  favor  either  Kinney  or  Struve. 
You're  sure  barking  up  the  wrong  tree." 

The  self-appointed  committee  for  the  execution 


A   TEXAS  RANGER 39 

of  justice  and  the  man  from  the  Panhandle  looked 
the  prison  photographs  over  blankly.  Between 
the  hard,  clean-cut  face  of  their  prisoner  and  those 
that  looked  at  them  from  the  photographs  it  was 
impossible  to  find  any  resemblance.  DufHeld 
handed  the  prints  back  with  puzzled  chagrin. 

"I  guess  you're  right,  Steve,  But  I'd  like  this 
gentleman  to  explain  how  come  he  to  be  riding 
the  horse  one  of  these  miscreants  stole  from  Ma- 
loney's  barn  last  night." 

Steve  looked  at  the  prisoner.  "It's  your  spiel, 
friend,"  he  said. 

"All  right.  I'll  tell  you  some  facts.  Just  as  I  was 
coming  down  from  the  Roskruge  range  this 
mo'ning  I  was  held  up  for  my  team.  One  of  these 
fellows — the  one  called  Kinney — had  started  from 
Fort  Lincoln  on  this  roan  here,  but  he  was  wounded 
and  broke  down.  There  was  some  gun-play,  and 
he  gave  me  this  scratch  on  the  cheek.  The  end  of 
it  was  that  he  took  my  team  and  left  me  with  his 
worn-out  bronc.  I  plugged  on  all  day  with  the 
hawss  till  about  three  mebbe,  then  seeing  it  was  all 
in  I  unsaddled  and  picketed.  I  lay  down  and 
dropped  asleep.  Next  I  knew  the  necktie-party  was 
in  session." 

"What  time  was  it  y'u  met  this  fellow  Kinney?'* 
asked  Long  sharply. 

"Must  have  been  about  nine  or  nine-thirty  I 
judge." 


40 A    TEXAS  RANGER 

"And  it's  five  now.  That's  eight  hours'  start, 
and  four  more  before  we  can  cut  his  trail  on  Ros- 
kruge.  By  God,  we've  lost  him!" 

"Looks  like,"  agreed  another  ruefully. 

"Make  straight  for  the  Arivaca  cut-off  and  you 
ought  to  stand  a  show,"  suggested  Eraser. 

"That's  right.  If  we  ride  all  night,  might  beat 
him  to  it."  Each  of  the  five  contributed  a  word 
of  agreement. 

Five  minutes  later  the  Texan  and  the  ranger 
watched  a  dust-cloud  drifting  to  the  south.  In  it 
was  hidden  the  posse  disappearing  over  the  hilltop. 

Steve  grinned.  "I  hate  to  disappoint  the  boys. 
They're  so  plumb  anxious.  But  I  reckon  I'll  strike 
the  telephone  line  and  send  word  to  Moreno  for 
one  of  the  rangers  to  cut  out  after  Kinney.  Going 
my  way,  seh?" 

"If  you're  going  mine." 

"I  reckon  I  am.  And  just  to  pass  the  time  you 
might  tell  me  tfie  real  story  of  that  hold-up  while 
we  ride." 

"The  real  story?" 

"Well,  I  don't  aim  to  doubt  your  word,  but  I 
reckon  you  forgot  to  tell  some  of  it."  He  turned 
on  the  other  his  gay  smile.  "For  instance,  seh,  you 
ain't  asking  me  to  believe  that  you  handed  over  your 
rig  to  Kinney  so  peaceful  and  that  he  went  away 
and  clean  forgot  to  unload  from  you  that  gun  you 
pack." 

The  eyes  of  the  two  met  and  looked  into  each 


A   TEXAS  RANGER 41 

other's  as  clear  and  straight  as  Texas  sunshine. 
Slowly  Neill's  relaxed  into  a  smile. 

"No,  I  won't  ask  you  to  believe  that.  I  owe  you 
something  because  you  saved  my  life " 

"Forget  it,"  commanded  the  lieutenant  crisply. 

"And  I  can't  do  less  than  tell  you  the  whole 
story." 

He  told  it,  yet  not  the  whole  of  it  either;  for  there 
was  one  detail  he  omitted  completely.  It  had  to  do 
with  the  cause  for  existence  of  the  little  black-and- 
blue  bruise  under  his  right  eye  and  the  purple  ridge 
that  seamed  his  wrist.  Nor  with  all  his  acuteness 
could  Stephen  Fraser  guess  that  the  one  swelling 
had  been  made  by  a  gold  ring  on  the  clenched  fist 
of  an  angry  girl  held  tight  in  Larry  Neill's  arms, 
the  other  by  the  lash  of  a  horsewhip  wielded  by  the 
same  young  woman. 


CHAPTER  III 

A  DISCOVERY 

The  roan,  having-  been  much  refreshed  by  a  few 
hours  on  grass,  proved  to  be  a  good  traveller.  The 
two  men  took  a  road-gait  and  held  it  steadily  till 
they  reached  a  telephone-line  which  stretched  across 
the  desert  and  joined  two  outposts  of  civilization. 
Steve  strapped  on  his  climbing  spurs  and  went  up 
a  post  lightly  with  his  test  outfit.  In  a  few  minutes 
he  had  Moreno  on  the  wire  and  was  in  touch  with 
one  of  his  rangers. 

"Hello!  This  you,  Ferguson?  This  is  Fraser. 
No,  Fraser — Lieutenant  Fraser.  Yes.  How  many 
of  the  boys  can  you  get  in  touch  with  right  away? 
Two?  Good.  I  want  you  to  cover  the  Arivaca 
cut-off.  Kinney  is  ^aded  that  way  in  a  rig.  His 
sister  is  with  him.  She  is  not  to  be  injured  under 
any  circumstances.  Understand?  Wire  me  at  the 
Mai  Pais  mines  to-morrow  your  news.  By  the  way, 
Tom  Long  and  some  of  the  boys  are  headed  down 
that  way  with  notions  of  lynching  Kinney.  Dodge 
them  if  you  can  and  rush  your  man  up  to  the  Mai 
Pais.  Good-bye." 

42 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  43 

•««P-1M  • 

"Suppose  they  can't  dodge  them?"  ventured  Neill 
after  Steve  had  rejoined  him. 

"I  reckon  they  can.  If  not — well,  my  rangers  are 
good  boys;  I  expect  they  won't  give  up  a  prisoner/' 

"I'm  right  glad  to  find  you  are  going  to  the  Mai 
Pais  mines  with  me,  lieutenant.  I  wasn't  expecting 
company  on  the  way." 

"I'll  bet  a  dollar  Mex  against  two  plunks  gold 
that  you're  wondering  whyfor  I'm  going." 

Larry  laughed.  "You're  right.  I  was  wonder- 
ing." 

"Well,  then,  it's  this  way.  What  with  all  these 
boys  on  Kinney's  trail  he's  as  good  as  rounded  up. 
Fact  is,  Kinney's  only  a  weak  sister  anyhow.  He 
turned  State's  witness  at  the  trial,  and  it  was  his 
testimony  that  convicted  Struve.  I  know  some- 
thing about  this  because  I  happened  to  be  the  man 
that  caught  Struve.  I  had  just  joined  the  rangers. 
It  was  my  first  assignment.  The  other  three  got 
away.  Two  of  them  escaped  and  the  third  was  not 
tried  for  lack  of  sufficient  evidence.  Now,  then: 
Kinney  rides  the  rods  from  Yuma  to  Mar  fa  and  is 
now  or  had  ought  to  be  somewhere  in  this  valley 
between  Posa  Buena  and  Taylor's  ranch.  But 
where  is  Struve,  the  hardier  ruffian  of  the  two  ?  He 
ain't  been  seen  since  they  broke  out.  He  sure  never 
reached  Ft.  Lincoln.  My  notion  is  that  he  dropped  off 
the  train  in  the  darkness  about  Casa  Grande,  then 
rolled  his  tail  for  the  Mai  Pais  country.  Your  eyes 
are  asking  whys  mighty  loud,  my  friend;  aod  my 


44 A    TEXAS  RANGER 

answer  is  that  there's  a  man  up  there  mebbe  who 
has  got  to  hide  Struve  if  he  shows  up.  That's  only 
a  guess,  but  it  looks  good  to  me.  This  man  was  the 
brains  of  the  whole  outfit,  and  folks  say  that  he's 
.got  cached  the  whole  haul  the  gang  made  from  that 
S.  P.  hold-up.  What's  more,  he  scattered  gold  so 
liberal  that  his  name  wasn't  even  mentioned  at  the 
trial.  He's  a  big  man  now,  a  millionaire  copper 
king  and  into  gold-mines  up  to  the  hocks.  In  the 
Southwest  those  things  happen.  It  doesn't  always 
do  to  look  too  closely  at  a  man's  past. 

"We'll  say  Struve  drops  in  on  him  and  threatens 
to  squeal.  Mebbe  he  has  got  evidence;  mebbe  he 
hasn't.  Anyhow,  our  big  duck  wants  to  forget  the 
time  he  was  wearing  a  mask  and  bending  a  six-gun 
for  a  living.  Also  and  moreover,  he's  right  anxious 
to  have  other  folks  get  a  chance  to  forget.  From 
what  I  can  hear  he's  clean  mashed  on  some  girl  at 
Amarillo,  or  maybe  it's  Fort  Lincoln.  See  what  » 
twist  Struve's  got  on  him  if  he  can  slip  into  the  Mai 
Pais  country  on  the  q.  t." 

"And  you're  going  up  there  to  look  out  for  him  ?" 

"I'm  going  in  to  take  a  casual  look  around. 
There's  no  telling  what  a  man  might  happen  onto 
accidentally  if  he  travels  with  his  ear  to  the 
ground." 

The  other  nodded.  He  could  now  understand 
easily  why  Fraser  was  going  into  the  Mai  Pais 
country,  but  he  could  not  make  out  why  the  ranger, 
naturally  a  man  who  lived  under  his  own  hat  and 


A    TEXAS  RANGER 45 

kept  his  own  counsel,  had  told  him  so  much  as  he 
had.  The  officer  shortly  relieved  his  mind  on  this 
point. 

"I  may  need  help  while  I'm  there.  May  I  call 
on  you  if  I  do,  seh  ?" 

Neill  felt  his  heart  warm  toward  this  hard-faced, 
genial  frontiersman,  who  knew  how  to  judge  so 
well  the  timbre  of  a  casual  acquaintance. 

"You  sure  may,  lieutenant." 

"Good.    I'll  count  on  you  then." 

So,  in  these  few  words,  the  compact  of  friend- 
ship and  alliance  was  sealed  between  them.  Each 
of  them  was  strangely  taken  with  the  other,  b^t  it  is 
not  the  way  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  fighting  man  to 
voice  his  sentiment.  Though  each  of  them  admired 
the  stark  courage  and  the  flawless  fortitude  he  knew 
to  dwell  in  the  other,  impassivity  sat  on  their  faces 
like  an  ice-mask.  For  this  is  the  hall-mark  of  the 
Southwest,  that  a  man  must  love  and  hate  with  the 
same  unchanging  face  of  iron,  save  only  when  a 
woman  is  in  consideration. 

They  were  to  camp  that  night  by  Cottonwood 
Spring,  and  darkness  caught  them  still  some  miles 
from  their  camp.  They  were  on  no  road,  but  were 
travelling  across  country  through  washes  and  ovef 
countless  hills.  The  ranger  led  the  way,  true  as  an 
arrow,  even  after  velvet  night  had  enveloped  them 

"It  must  be  right  over  this  mesa  among  the  cot* 
tonwoods  you  see  rising  from  that  arroyo,"  he  air 
nounced  at  last. 


46  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

He  had  scarcely  spoken  before  they  struck  a  trail 
that  led  them  direct  to  the  spring.  But  as  they  were 
descending  this  in  a  circle  Eraser's  horse  shied. 

"Hyer  you,  Pinto !    What's  the  matter  with " 

The  ranger  cut  his  sentence  in  two  and  slid  from 
the  saddle.    When  his  companion  reached  him  and 
drew  rein  the  ranger  was  bending  over  a  dark  mass  ,' 
stretched  across  the  trail.     He  looked  up  quietly. 

"Man's  body,"  he  said  briefly. 

"Dead?" 

"Yes." 

Neill  dismounted  and  came  forward.  The  moon- 
crescent  was  up  by  now  and  had  lit  the  country  with 
a  chill  radiance.  The  figure  was  dressed  in  the 
coarse  striped  suit  of  a  convict. 

"I  don't  savvy  this  play,"  Fraser  confessed  softly 
to  himself. 

"Do  you  know  him?" 

"Suppose  you  look  at  him  and  see  if  you  know 
him." 

Neill  looked  into  the  white  face  and  shook  his 
head. 

"No,  I  don't  know  him,  but  I  suppose  it  is 
Struve." 

From  his  pocket  the  ranger  produced  a  photo- ( 
graph  and  handed  it  to  him. 

"Hyer,  I'll  strike  a  match  and  you'll  see  better." 

The  match  flared  up  in  the  slight  breeze  and  pres- 
ently went  out,  but  not  before  Neill  had  seen  that 
it  was  the  face  of  the  man  who  lay  before  them. 


A    TEXAS  RANGER 47 

"Did  you  see  the  name  under  the  picture,  seh  ?" 

"No." 

Another  match  flared  and  the  man  from  the  Pan- 
handle read  a  name,  but  it  was  not  the  one  he  had 
expected  to  see.  The  words  printed  there  were 
"James  Kinney." 

"I  don't  understand.  This  ain't  Kinney.  He  is 
a  heavy-set  man  with  a  villainous  face.  There's 
some  mistake." 

"There  ce'tainly  is,  but  not  at  this  end  of  the  line. 
This  is  Kinney  all  right.  I've  seen  him  at  Yuma. 
He  was  heading  for  the  Mai  Pais  country  and  he 
died  on  the  way.  See  hyer.  Look  at  these  soaked 
bandages.  He's  been  wounded — shot  mebbe — and 
the  wound  broke  out  on  him  again  so  that  he  bled 
to  death." 

"It's  all  a  daze  to  me.  Who  is  the  other  man  if 
he  isn't  Kinney?" 

"We're  coming  to  that.  I'm  beginning  to  see 
daylight,"  said  Steve,  gently.  "Let's  run  over  this 
thing  the  way  it  might  be.  You've  got  to  keep  in 
mind  that  this  man  was  weak,  one  of  those  spine- 
less fellows  that  stronger  folks  lead  around  by  the 
nose.  Well,  they  make  their  getaway  at  Yuma  after 
Struve  has  killed  a  guard.  That  killing  of  Dave 
Long  shakes  Kinney  up  a  lot,  he  being  no  desperado 
but  only  a  poor  lost-dog  kind  of  a  guy.  Struve  no- 
tices it  and  remembers  that  this  fellow  weakened 
before.  He  makes  up  his  mind  to  take  no  chances. 
From  that  moment  he  watches  for  a  chance  to  make 


48  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

an  end  of  his  pardner.  At  Casa  Grande  they  drop 
off  the  train  they're  riding  and  cut  across  country 
toward  the  Mai  Pais.  Mebbe  they  quarrel  or  mebbe 
Struve  gets  his  chance  and  takes  it.  But  after  he 
has  shot  his  man  he  sees  he  has  made  a  mistake. 
Perhaps  they  were  seen  travelling  in  that  direction. 
Anyhow,  he  is  afraid  the  body  will  be  found  since 
he  can't  bury  it  right.  He  changes  his  plan  and 
takes  a  big  chance;  cuts  back  to  the  track,  boards 
a  freight,  and  reaches  Fort  Lincoln." 

"My  God !"  cried  the  other,  startled  for  once  out 
of  his  calm. 

The  officer  nodded.  "You're  on  the  trail  right 
enough.  I  wish  we  were  both  wrong,  but  we  ain't." 

"But  surely  she  would  have  known  he  wasn't  her 
brother,  surely " 

The  ranger  shook  his  head.  "She  hadn't  seen 
the  black  sheep  since  she  was  a  kid  of  about  seven. 
How  would  she  know  what  he  looked  like?  And 
Struve  was  primed  with  all  the  facts  he  had  heard 
Kinney  blat  out  time  and  again.  She  wasn't  sus- 
pecting any  imposition  and  he  worked  her  to  a  f  are- 
you- well." 

Larry  Neill  set  his  teeth  on  a  wave  of  icy  despair. 

"And  she's  in  that  devil's  power.    She  would  be  ' 
as  safe  in  a  den  of  rattlers.    To  think  that  I  had  ' 
my    foot   on   his   neck   this   mo'ning   and    didn't 
break  it." 

"She's  safe  so  long  as  she  is  necessary  to  him. 
She's  in  deadly  peril  as  soon  as  he  finds  her  one  wit- 


^ A    TEXAS  RANGER  49 

ness  too  many.  If  he  walks  into  my  boys'  trap  at 
the  Arivaca  cut-off,  all  right.  If  not,  God  help  her! 
I've  shut  the  door  to  Mexico  and  safety  in  his  face. 
He'll  strike  back  for  the  Mai  Pais  country.  It's  his 
one  chance,  and  he'll  want  to  travel  light  and  fast.39 

"If  he  starts  back  Tom  Long's  party  may  get 
him." 

"That's  one  more  chance  for  her,  but  it's  a  slim 
one.  He'll  cut  straight  across  country;  they're  fol- 
lowing the  trail.  No,  seh,  our  best  bet  is  my  rang- 
ers. They'd  ought  to  land  him,  too." 

"Oh,  ought  to,"  derided  the  other  impatiently. 
"Point  is,  if  they  don't.  How  are  we  going  to  save 
her  ?  You  know  this  country.  I  don't." 

"Don't  tear  your  shirt,  amigo"  smiled  the 
ranger.  "We'll  arrive  faster  if  we  don't  go  off 
half-cocked.  Let's  picket  the  broncs,  amble  down  to 
the  spring,  and  smoke  a  cigaret.  We've  got  to  ride 
twenty  miles  for  fresh  hawsses  and  these  have  got 
to  have  a  little  rest." 

They  unsaddled  and  picketed,  then  strolled  to  the 
spring. 

"I've  been  thinking  that  maybe  we  have  made  a 
mistake.  Isn't  it  possible  the  man  with  Miss  Kinney 
is  not  Struve?"  asked  Neill. 

"That's  easy  proved.  You  saw  him  this  mo'n- 
ing."  The  lieutenant  went  down  into  his  pocket 
once  more  for  a  photograph.  "Does  this  favor  the 
man  with  Miss  Kinney?" 

Under  the  blaze  of  another  match,  shielded  by 


So A    TEXAS  RANGER 

the  ranger's  hands,  Larry  looked  into  the  scowling, 
villainous  face  he  had  seen  earlier  in  the  day.  There 
could  be  no  mistaking  those  leering,  cruel  eyes  nor 
the  ratlike,  shifty  look  of  the  face,  not  to  mention 
the  long  scar  across  it.  His  heart  sank. 

"It's  the  man." 

"Don't  you  blame  yourself  for  not  putting  his 
lights  out.  How  could  you  tell  who  he  was?" 

"I  knew  he  was  a  ruffian,  hide  and  hair." 

"But  you  thought  he  was  her  brother  and  that's 
a  whole  lot  different.  What  do  you  say  to  grubbing 
here?  We've  got  to  go  to  the  Halle  ranch  for 
hawsses  and  it's  a  long  jog." 

They  lit  a  fire  and  over  their  coffee  discussed 
plans.  In  the  midst  of  these  the  Southerner  picked 
up  idly  a  piece  of  wrapping-paper.  Upon  it  was 
pencilled  a  wavering  scrawl : 

Bleeding  has  broke  out  again.  Can't  stop  it.  Struve 
shot  me  and  left  me  for  dead  ten  miles  back.  I  didn't 
kill  the  guard  or  know  he  meant  to.  J.  KINNEY. 

Neill  handed  the  paper  to  the  ranger,  who  read  it 
through,  folded  it,  and  gave  it  back  to  the  other. 

"Keep  that  paper.  We  may  need  it."  His  grave 
eyes  went  up  the  trail  to  where  the  dark  figure  lay 
motionless  in  the  cold  moonlight.  "Well,  he's  come 
to  the  end  of  the  trail — the  only  end  he  could  have 
reached.  He  wasn't  strong  enough  to  survive  as  a 
bad  man.  Poor  devil!" 

They  buried  him  in  a  clump  of  cotton  woods  and 
left  a  little  pile  of  rocks  to  mark  the  spot. 


CHAPTER  IV 
LOST! 

After  her  precipitate  leave-taking  of  the  man 
whose  team  she  had  bought  or  borrowed,  Margaret 
Kinney  nursed  the  fires  of  her  indignation  in  silence, 
banking  them  for  future  use  against  the  time  when 
she  should  meet  him  again  in  the  event  that  should 
ever  happen.  She  brought  her  whip-lash  snapping 
above  the  backs  of  the  horses,  and  there  was  that 
in  the  supple  motion  of  the  small  strong  wrist  which 
suggested  that  nothing  would  have  pleased  her  more 
than  having  this  audacious  Texan  there  in  place  of 
the  innocent  animals.  For  whatever  of  inherited 
savagery  lay  latent  in  her  blood  had  been  flogged  to 
the  surface  by  the  circumstances  into  which  she  had 
been  thrust.  Never  in  all  her  placid  life  had  she 
known  the  tug  of  passion  any  closer  than  from 
across  the  footlights  of  a  theatre. 

She  had  had,  to  be  sure,  one  stinging  shame,  but 
it  had  been  buried  in  far-away  Arizona,  quite  be- 
yond the  ken  of  the  convention-bound  people  of  the 
little  Wisconsin  town  where  she  dwelt.  But  within 
the  past  twelve  hours  Fate  had  taken  hold  of  her 
with  both  hands  and  thrust  her  into  Life.  She 


52  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

sensed  for  the  first  time  its  roughness,  its  naked- 
ness, its  tragedy.  She  had  known  the  sensations  of 
a  hunted  wild  beast,  the  flush  of  shame  for  her  kin- 
ship to  this  coarse  ruffian  by  her  side,  and  the  shock 
of  outraged  maiden  modesty  at  kisses  ravished  from 
her  by  force.  The  teacher  hardly  knew  herself  for 
the  same  young  woman  who  but  yesterday  was  en- 
grossed in  multiplication  tables  and  third  readers. 

A  sinister  laugh  from  the  man  beside  her  brought 
the  girl  back  to  the  present. 

She  looked  at  him  and  then  looked  quickly  away 
again.  There  was  something  absolutely  repulsive 
in  the  creature — in  the  big  ears  that  stood  out  from 
the  close-cropped  head,  in  the  fishy  eyes  that  saw 
everything  without  ever  looking  directly  at  any^* 
thing,  in  the  crooked  mouth  with  its  irregular  rows 
of  stained  teeth  from  which  several  were  missing. 
She  had  often  wondered  about  her  brother,  but 
never  at  the  worst  had  she  imagined  anything  so  bad 
as  this.  The  memory  would  be  enough  to  give  one 
the  shudders  for  years. 

"Guess  I  ain't  next  to  all  that  happened  there  in 
the  mesquite,"  he  sneered,  with  a  lift  of  the  ugly  lip. 

She  did  not  look  at  him.  She  did  not  speak. 
There  seethed  in  her  a  loathing  and  a  disgust  be- 
yond expression. 

"Guess  you  forgot  that  a  fellow  can  sometimes 
hear  even  when  he  can't  see.  Since  I'm  chaperoon- 
ing  you  I'll  make  out  to  be  there  next  time  you  meet 
a  good-looking  lady-killer.  Funny,  the  difference 


A   TEXAS  RANGER 53 

it  makes,  being  your  brother.  You  ain't  seen  me 
since  you  was  a  kid,  but  you  plumb  forgot  to 
kiss  me" 

There  was  a  note  in  his  voice  she  had  not  heard 
before,  some  hint  of  leering  ribaldry*  in  the  thick 
laugh  that  for  the  first  time  stirred  unease  in  her 
heart.  She  did  not  know  that  the  desperate,  wild- 
animal  fear  in  him,  so  overpowering  that  everything 
else  had  been  pushed  to  the  background,  had  ob- 
scured certain  phases  of  him  that  made  her  pres- 
ence here  such  a  danger  as  she  could  not  yet  con- 
ceive. That  fear  was  now  lifting,  and  the  peril 
loomed  imminent. 

He  put  his  arm  along  the  back  of  the  seat  and 
grinned  at  her  from  his  loose-lipped  mouth. 

"But  o'  course  it  ain't  too  late  to  begin  now,  my 
dearie." 

Her  fearless  level  eyes  met  squarely  his  shifty 
ones  and  read  there  something  she  could  dread  with- 
out understanding,  something  that  was  an  unde- 
fined sacrilege  of  her  sweet  purity.  For  womanlike 
her  instinct  leaped  beyond  reason. 

"Take  down  your  arm,"  she  ordered. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  sis.  I  reckon  your 
brother " 

"You're  no  brother  of  mine,"  she  broke  in.  "At 
most  it  is  an  accident  of  birth  I  disown.  I'll  have 
no  relationship  with  you  of  any  sort." 

"Is  that  why  you're  driving  with  me  to  Mexico  ?'* 
he  jeered. 


54  'A   TEXAS  RANGER 

"I  made  a  mistake  in  trying  to  save  you.  If  it 
were  to  do  over  again  I  should  not  lift  a  hand." 

"You  wouldn't,  eh?" 

There  was  something  almost  wolfish  in  the  facial 
malignity  that  distorted  him. 

"Not  a  finger." 

"Perhaps  you'd  give  me  up  now  if  you  had  a 
chance  ?" 

"I  would  if  I  did  what  was  right." 

"And  you'd  sure  want  to  do  what  was  right,"  he 
snarled. 

"Take  down  your  arm,"  she  ordered  again,  a 
dangerous  glitter  in  her  eyes. 

He  thrust  his  evil  face  close  to  hers  and  showed 
his  teeth  in  a  blind  rage  that  forgot  everything  else. 

"Listen  here,  you  little  locoed  baby.  I  got  some- 
thing to  tell  you  that'll  make  your  hair  curl.  You're 
right,  I  ain't  your  brother.  I'm  Nick  Struve — Wolf 
Struve  if  you  like  that  better.  I  lied  you  into  be- 
lieving me  your  brother,  who  ain't  ever  been  any- 
thing but  a  skim-milk  quitter.  He's  dead  back  there 
in  the  cactus  somewhere,  and  I  killed  him !" 

Terror  flooded  her  eyes.  Her  very  breathing- 
hung  suspended.  She  gazed  at  him  in  a  frozen  fas- 
cination of  horror. 

"Killed  him  because  he  gave  me  away  seven  years 
ago  and  was  gittin'  ready  to  round  on  me  again. 
Folks  don't  live  long  that  play  Wolf  Struve  for  a 
lamb.  A  wolf!  That's  what  I  am,  a  born  wolf, 
and  don't  you  forget  it." 


^ A   TEXAS  RANGER 55 

The  fact  itself  did  not  need  his  words  for  em- 
phasis. He  fairly  reeked  the  beast  of  prey.  She 
had  to  nerve  herself  against  faintness.  She  must 
not  swoon.  She  dared  not. 

"Think  you  can  threaten  to  give  me  up,  do  you? 
'Fore  I'm  through  with  you  you'll  wish  you  had 
never  been  born.  You'll  crawl  on  your  knees  and 
beg  me  to  kill  you." 

Such  a  devil  of  wickedness  she  had  never  seen  in 
human  eyes  before.  The  ruthlessness  left  no  room 
for  appeal.  Unless  the  courage  to  tame  him  lay  in 
her  she  was  lost  utterly. 

He  continued  his  exultant  bragging,  blatantly, 
ferociously. 

"I  didn't  tell  you  about  my  escape ;  how  a  guard 
tried  to  stop  me  and  I  put  the  son  of  a  gun  out  of 
business.  There's  a  price  on  my  head.  D'ye  think 
I'm  the  man  to  give  you  a  chance  to  squeal  on  me  ? 
D'ye  think  I'll  let  a  pink-and- white  chit  send  me 
back  to  be  strangled  ?"  he  screamed. 

The  stark  courage  in  her  rose  to  the  crisis.  Not 
an  hour  before  she  had  seen  the  Texan  cow  him. 
He  was  of  the  kind  would  take  the  whip  whiningly 
could  she  but  wield  it.  Her  scornful  eyes  fastened 
on  him  contemptuously,  chiseled  into  the  cur  heart 
of  him. 

"What  will  you  do?"  she  demanded,  fronting  the 
issue  that  must  sooner  or  later  rise. 

The  raucous  jangle  of  his  laugh  failed  to  disturb 
the  steadiness  of  her  gaze.  To  reassure  himself  of 


56  A   TEX  AS  "RANGER 

his  mastery  he  began  to  bluster,  to  threaten,  turn- 
ing loose  such  a  storm  of  vile  abuse  as  she  had 
never  heard.  He  was  plainly  working  his  nerve  up 
to  the  necessary  pitch. 

In  her  first  terror  she  had  dropped  the  reins.  Her 
hands  had  slipped  unconsciously  under  the  lap-robe. 
Now  one  of  them  touched  something  chilly  on  the 
seat  beside  her.  She  almost  gasped  her  relief.  It 
was  the  selfsame  revolver  with  which  she  had  tried 
to  hold  up  the  Texan. 

In  the  midst  of  Struve's  flood  of  invective  the 
girl's  hand  leaped  quickly  from  the  lap-robe.  A 
cold  muzzle  pressed  against  his  cheek  brought  the 
convict's  outburst  to  an  abrupt  close. 

"If  you  move  I'll  fire,"  she  said  quietly. 

For  a  long  moment  their  gazes  gripped,  the 
deadly  clear  eyes  of  the  young  woman  and  the  fur- 
tive ones  of  the  miscreant.  Underneath  the  robe 
she  felt  a  stealthy  movement,  and  cried  out  quickly : 
"Hands  up!" 

With  a  curse  he  threw  his  arms  into  the  air. 

''Jump  out!    Don't  lower  your  hands!" 

"My  ankle,"  he  whined. 

"Jump!" 

His  leap  cleared  the  wheel  and  threw  him  to  the 
ground.  She  caught  up  the  whip  and  slashed  wildly 
at  the  horses.  They  sprang  forward  in  a  panic, 
flying  wildly  across  the  open  plain.  Margaret  heard 
a  revolver  bark  twice.  After  that  she  was  so  busy 


A   TEXAS  RANGER 57 

tfying  to  regain  control  of  the  team  that  she  could 
think  of  nothing  else.  The  horses  were  young  and 
full  of  spirit,  so  that  she  had  all  she  could  do  to 
keep  the  trap  from  being  upset.  It  wound  in  and 
out  among  the  hills,  taking  perilous  "places  safely  to 
her  surprise,  and  was  at  last  brought  to  a  stop  only 
by  the  narrowing  of  a  draw  into  which  the  animals 
had  bolted. 

They  were  quiet  now  beyond  any  chance  of  far- 
ther runaway,  even  had  it  been  possible.  Margaret 
dropped  the  lines  on  the  dashboard  and  began  to 
sob,  at  first  in  slow  deep  breaths  and  then  in  quicker 
uneven  ones.  Plucky  as  she  was,  the  girl  had  had 
about  all  her  nerves  could  stand  for  one  day.  The 
strain  of  her  preparation  for  flight,  the  long  night 
drive,  and  the  excitement  of  the  last  two  hours  were 
telling  on  her  in  a  hysterical  reaction. 

She  wept  herself  out,  dried  her  eyes  with  dabs 
of  her  little  kerchief,  and  came  back  to  a  calm  con- 
sideration of  her  situation.  She  must  get  back  to 
Fort  Lincoln  as  soon  as  possible,  and  she  must  do 
it  without  encountering  the  convict.  For  in  the 
course  of  the  runaway  the  revolver  had  been  jolted 
from  the  trap. 

Not  quite  sure  in  which  direction  lay  the  roadf 
she  got  out  from  the  trap,  topped  the  hill  to  her 
right,  and  looked  around.  She  saw  in  all  direc- 
tions nothing  but  rolling  hilltops,  merging  into  each 
other  even  to  the  horizon's  edge.  In  her  wild  flight 


58  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

among  these  hills  she  had  lost  count  of  direction. 
She  had  not  yet  learned  how  to  know  north  from 
south  by  the  sun,  and  if  she  had  it  would  have 
helped  but  little  since  she  knew  only  vaguely  the 
general  line  of  their  travel. 

She  felt  sure  that  from  the  top  of  the  next  rise 
she  could  locate  the  road,  but  once  there  she  was  as 
uncertain  as  before.  Before  giving  up  she  breasted 
a  third  hill  to  the  summit.  Still  no  signs  of  the 
road.  Reluctantly  she  retraced  her  steps,  and  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill  was  uncertain  whether  she  should 
turn  to  right  or  left.  Choosing  the  left,  from  the 
next  height  she  could  see  nothing  of  the  team.  She 
was  not  yet  alarmed.  It  was  ridiculous  to  suppose 
that  she  was  lost.  How  could  she  be  when  she  was 
within  three  or  four  hundred  yards  of  the  rig?  She 
would  cut  across  the  shoulder  into  the  wash  and 
climb  the  hillock  beyond.  For  behind  it  the  team 
must  certainly  be. 

But  at  her  journey's  end  her  eyes  were  gladdened 
by  no  sight  of  the  horses.  Every  draw  was  like  its 
neighbor,  every  rolling  rise  a  replica  of  the  next. 
The  truth  came  home  to  a  sinking  heart.  She  was 
lost  in  one  of  the  great  deserts  of  Texas.  She 
would  wander  for  days  as  others  had,  and  she  would 
die  in  the  end  of  starvation  and  thirst.  Nobody 
would  know  where  to  look  for  her,  since  she  had 
told  none  where  she  was  going.  Only  yesterday  at 
her  boarding-house  she  had  heard  a  young  man  tell 


A    TEXAS' RANGER 59 

how  a  tenderfoot  had  been  found  dead  after  he  had 
wandered  round  and  round  in  intersecting  circles. 
She  sank  down  and  gave  herself  up  to  despair. 

But  not  for  long.  She  was  too  full  of  grit  to 
give  up  without  a  long  fight.  How  many  hours  she 
wandered  Margaret  Kinney  did  not  know.  The 
sun  was  high  in  the  heavens  when  she  began.  It 
had  given  place  to  flooding  moonlight  long  before 
her  worn  feet  and  aching  heart  gave  up  the  search 
for  some  human  landmark.  Once  at  least  she  must 
have  slept,  for  she  stared  up  from  a  spot  where  she 
had  sunk  down  to  look  up  into  a  starry  sky  that  was 
new  to  her. 

The  moon  had  sailed  across  the  vault  and  grown 
chill  and  faint  with  dawn  before  she  gave  up,  com- 
pletely  exhausted,  and  when  her  eyes  opened  again 
it  was  upon  a  young  day  fresh  and  sweet.  She 
knew  by  this  time  hunger  and  an  acute  thirst.  As 
the  day  increased,  this  last  she  knew  must  be  a  tor- 
ment of  swollen  tongue  and  lime-kiln  throat.  Yes- 
terday she  had  cried  for  help  till  her  voice  had 
failed.  A  dumb  despair  had  now  driven  away  her 
terror. 

And  then  into  the  awful  silence  leaped  a  sound 
like  a  messenger  of  hope.  It  was  a  shot,  so  close 
that  she  could  see  the  smoke  rise  from  an  arroyo 
near.  She  ran  forward  till  she  could  look  down 
into  it  and  caught  sight  of  a  man  with  a  dead  bird 
in  his  hand.  He  had  his  back  toward  her  and  was 


6o  A  "TEXAS  RANGER 

stooping  over  a  fire.  Slithering  down  over  the  short 
dry  grass,  she  was  upon  him  almost  before  she 
could  stop. 

"I've  been  lost  all  night  and  all  yesterday,"  she 
sobbed. 

He  snatched  at  the  revolver  lying  beside  him  and 
whirled  like  a  flash  as  if  to  meet  an  attack.  The 
girl's  pumping  heart  seemed  to  stand  still.  The 
man  snarling  at  her  was  the  convict  Struve. 


CHAPTER  V     - 

LARRY  NEILL  TO  THE  RESCUE 

The  snarl  gave  way  slowly  to  a  grin  more  malign 
than  his  open  hostility. 

"So  you've  been  lost !  And  now  you're  found — 
come  safe  back  to  your  loving  brother.  Ain't  that 
luck  for  you  ?  Hunted  all  over  Texas  till  you  found 
him,  eh?  And  it's  a  powerful  big  State,  too." 

She  caught  sight  of  something  that  made  her  for- 
get all  else. 

"Have  you  got  water  in  that  canteen  ?"  she  asked, 
her  parched  eyes  staring  at  it. 

"Yes,  dearie." 

"Give  it  me." 

He  squatted  tailor-fashion  on  the  ground,  put 
the  canteen  between  his  knees,  and  showed  his  teeth 
in  a  crooked  grin. 

"Thirsty?" 

"I'm  dying  for  a  drink." 

"You  look  like  a  right  lively  corpse." 

"Give  it  to  me." 

"Will  you  take  it  now  or  wait  till  you  get  it?" 

"My  throat's  baked.  I  want  water,"  she  said 
hoarsely. 

61 


62 A^TEXAS  RANGER 

"Most  folks  want  a  lot  they  never  get." 

She  walked  toward  him  with  her  hand  out- 
stretched. 

"I  tell  you  I've  got  to  have  it." 

He  laughed  evilly.  "Water's  at  a  premium  right 
now.  Likely  there  ain't  enough  here  to  get  us  both 
out  of  this  infernal  hole  alive.  Yes,  it's  sure  at  a 
premium." 

He  let  his  eye  drift  insolently  over  her  and  take 
stock  of  his  prey,  in  the  same  feline  way  of  a  cat 
with  a  mouse,  gloating  over  her  distress  and  the 
details  of  her  young  good  looks.  His  tainted  gaze 
got  the  faint  pure  touch  of  color  in  her  face,  the 
reddish  tinge  of  her  wavy  brown  hair,  the  desirable 
sweetness  of  her  rounded  maidenhood.  If  her  step 
dragged,  if  dusky  hollows  shadowed  her  lids,  if  the 
native  courage  had  been  washed  from  the  hopeless 
eyes,  there  was  no  spring  of  manliness  hid  deep 
within  him  that  rose  to  refresh  her  exhaustion.  No 
pity  or  compunction  stirred  at  her  sweet  helpless- 
ness. 

"Do  you  want  my  money?"  she  asked  wearily. 

"I'll  take  that  to  begin  with." 

She  tossed  him  her  purse.  "There  should  be 
seventy  dollars  there.  May  I  have  a  drink  now?" 

"Not  yet,  my  dear.  First  you  got  to  come  up  to 
me  and  put  your  arms  round " 

He  broke  off  with  a  curse,  for  she  was  flying  to- 
ward the  little  circle  of  cottonwoods  some  forty 


A   TEXAS  RANGER 63 

yards  away.     She  had  caught   a   glimpse   of   the 
water-hole  and  was  speeding  for  it. 
^     "Come  back  here,"  he  called,  and  in  a  rage  let 
fly  a  bullet  after  her. 

She  paid  no  heed,  did  not  stop  till  she  reached  the 
spring  and  threw  herself  down  full  length  to  drink, 
to  lave  her  burnt  face,  to  drink  again  of  the  alkali 
brackish  water  that  trickled  down  her  throat  like 
nectar  incomparably  delicious. 

She  was  just  rising  to  her  feet  when  Struve  hob- 
bled up. 

"Don't  you  think  you  can  play  with  me,  missie. 
When  I  give  the  word  you  stop  in  your  tracks,  and 
when  I  say  ']ump\'  step  lively." 

She  did  not  answer.  Her  head  was  lifted  in  a 
listening  attitude,  as  if  to  catch  some  sound  that 
came  faintly  to  her  from  a  distance. 

"You're  mine,  my  beauty,  to  do  with  as  I  please, 
and  don't  you  forget  it." 

She  did  not  hear  him.  Her  ears  were  attuned  to 
voices  floating  to  her  across  the  desert.  Of  course 
she  was  beginning  to  wander  in  her  mind.  She 
knew  that.  There  could  be  no  other  human  beings 
in  this  sea  of  loneliness.  They  were  alone ;  just  they 
two,  the  degenerate  ruffian  and  his  victim.  Still,  it 
was  strange.  She  certainly  had  imagined  the  mur- 
mur of  people  talking.  It  must  be  the  beginning  of 
delirium. 

"Do  you  hear  me?"  screamed  Struve,  striking  her 


64 A   TEXAS  RANGER 

on  the  cheek  with  his  fist.  "I'm  your  master  and 
you're  my  squaw." 

She  did  not  cringe  as  he  had  expected,  nor  did 
she  show  fight.  Indeed  the  knowledge  of  the  blow 
seemed  scarcely  to  have  penetrated  her  mental 
penumbra.  She  still  had  that  strange  waiting  as- 
pect, but  her  eyes  were  beginning  to  light  with  new- 
born hope.  Something  in  her  manner  shook  the 
man's  confidence;  a  dawning  fear  swept  away  his 
bluster.  He,  too,  was  now  listening  intently. 

Again  the  low  murmur,  beyond  a  possibility  of 
doubt.  Both  of  them  caught  it.  The  girl  opened 
her  throat  in  a  loud  cry  for  help.  An  answering 
shout  came  back  clear  and  strong.  Struve  wheeled 
and  started  up  the  arroyo,  bending  in  and  out  among 
the  cactus  till  he  disappeared  over  the  brow. 

Two  horsemen  burst  into  sight,  galloping  down 
the  steep  trail  at  breakneck  speed,  flinging  down  a 
small  avalanche  of  shale  with  them.  One  of  them 
caught  sight  of  the  girl,  drew  up  so  short  that  his 
horse  slid  to  its  haunches,  and  leaped  from  the  sad- 
dle in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

He  ran  toward  her,  and  she  to  him,  hands  out  to 
meet  her  rescuer. 

"Why  didn't  you  come  sooner?  I've  waited  so 
long,"  she  cried  pathetically,  as  his  arms  went  about 
her. 

"You  poor  lamb!  Thank  God  we're  in  time!" 
was  all  he  could  say. 

Then  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  fainted. 


1 A  " TEXAS  "RANGER 65 

The  other  rider  lounged  forward,  a  hat  in  his 
hand  that  he  had  just  picked  up  close  to  the  fire. 

"We  seem  to  have  stampeded  part  of  this  camp- 
ing party.  I'll  just  take  a  run  up  this  hill  and  see 
if  I  can't  find  the  missing  section  and  persuade  it 
to  stay  a  while.  I  don't  reckon  you  need  me  hyer, 
do  you?"  he  grinned,  with  a  glance  at  Neill  and 
his  burden. 

"All  right.  You'll  find  me  here  when  you  get 
back,  Fraser,"  the  other  answered. 

Larry  carried  the  girl  to  the  water-hole  and  set 
her  down  beside  it.  He  sprinkled  her  face  with 
water,  and  presently  her  lids  trembled  and  fluttered 
open.  She  lay  there  with  her  head  on  his  arm  and 
looked  at  him  quite  without  surprise. 

"How  did  you  find  me?" 

"Mainly  luck.  We  followed  your  trail  to  where 
we  found  the  rig.  After  that  it  was  guessing  where 
the  needle  was  in  the  haystack.  It  just  happened  we 
were  cutting  across  country  to  water  when  we  heard 
a  shot." 

"That  must  have  been  when  he  fired  at  me,"  she 
said. 

"My  God!    Did  he  shoot  at  you?" 

"Yes.    Where  is  he  now?"    She  shuddered. 

"Cutting  over  the  hills  with  Steve  after  him." 

"Steve?" 

"My  friend,  Lieutenant  Fraser.  He  is  an  offt* 
cer  in  the  ranger  force." 

"Oh!"     She  relapsed  into  a  momentary  silence 


66  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

before  she  said :  "He  isn't  my  brother  at  all.  He 
is  a  murderer."  She  gave  a  sudden  little  moan  of 
pain  as  memory  pierced  her  of  what  he  had  said. 
"He  bragged  to  me  that  he  had  killed  my  brother. 
He  meant  to  kill  me,  I  think." 

"Sho !  It  doesn't  matter  what  the  coyote  meant. 
It's  all  over  now.  You're  with  friends." 

A  warm  smile  lit  his  steel-blue  eyes,  softened  the 
lines  of  his  lean,  hard  face.  Never  had  shipwrecked 
mariner  come  to  safer  harbor  than  she.  She  knew 
that  this  slim,  sun-bronzed  Westerner  was  a  man's 
man,  that  strength  and  nerve  inhabited  his  sinewy 
frame.  He  would  fight  for  her  because  she  was  a 
Woman  as  long  as  he  could  stand  and  see. 

A  touch  of  color  washed  back  into  her  cheeks, 
a  glow  of  courage  into  her  heart.  "Yes,  it's  all 
over.  The  weary,  weary  hours — and  the  fear — and 
the  pain — and  the  dreadful  thirst — and  worst  of  all, 
him!" 

She  began  to  cry  softly,  hiding  her  face  in  his 
coat-sleeve. 

"I'm  crying  because — it's  all  over.  I'm  a  little 
fool,  just  as — as  you  said  I  was." 

"I  didn't  know  you  then,"  he  smiled.  "I'm  right 
likely  to  make  snap-shot  judgments  that  are  'way 
off." 

"You  knew  me  well  enough  to "  She  broke 

off  in  the  middle,  bathed  in  a  flush  of  remembrance 
that  brought  her  coppery  head  up  from  his  arm  in- 
stantly. 


A    TEXAS  RANGER 67 

"Be  careful.    You're  dizzy  yet." 

"I'm  all  right  now,  thank  you,"  she  answered,  her 
embarrassed  profile  haughtily  in  the  air.  "But  I'm 
ravenous  for  something  to  eat.  It's  been  twenty- 
four  hours  since  I've  had  a  bite.  That's  why  I'm 
weepy  and  faint.  I  should  think  you  might  make  a 
snap-shot  judgment  that  breakfast  wouldn't  hurt 


me." 


He  jumped  up  contritely.  "That's  right.  What 
a  goat  I  am!" 

His  long,  clean  stride  carried  him  over  the  dis- 
tance that  separated  him  from  his  bronco.  Out  of 
the  saddle-bags  he  drew  some  sandwiches  wrapped 
in  a  newspaper. 

"Here,  Miss  Margaret!  You  begin  on  these. 
I'll  have  coffee  ready  in  two  shakes  of  a  cow's  tail. 
And  what  do  you  say  to  bacon?" 

He  understood  her  to  remark  from  the  depths  of 
a  sandwich  that  she  said  "Amen!"  to  it,  and  that 
she  would  take  everything  he  had  and  as  soon  as  he 
could  get  it  ready.  She  was  as  good  as  her  word* 
He  found  no  cause  to  complain  of  her  appetite. 
Bacon  and  sandwiches  and  coffee  were  all  consumed 
in  quantities  reasonable  for  a  famished  girl  who  had 
been  tramping  actively  for  a  day  and  a  night,  and, 
since  she  was  a  child  of  impulse,  she  turned  more 
friendly  eyes  on  him  who  had  appeased  her  appetite. 

"I  suppose  you  are  a  cowboy  like  everybody  else 
in  this  country?"  she  ventured  amiably  after  her 
hunger  had  become  less  sharp. 


68  A  'TEX'AS  RANGER 

^i»^""M""»""»"""^^^— ^^^— ^— — •—  — — — •— ^^^™««MM»«^  ^ 

"No,  I  belong  to  the  government  reclamation 


service." 


"Oh !"  She  had  a  vague  idea  she  had  heard  of  it 
before.  "Who  is  it  you  reclaim?  Indians,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"We  reclaim  young  ladies  when  we  find  them 
wandering  about  the  desert,"  he  smiled. 

"Is  that  what  the  government  pays  you  for?" 

"Not  entirely.  Part  of  the  time  I  examine  irriga- 
tion projects  and  report  on  their  feasibility.  I  have 
been  known  to  build  dams  and  bore  tunnels." 

"And  what  of  the  young  ladies  you  reclaim  ?  Do 
you  bore  them  ?"  she  asked  saucily. 

"I  understand  they  have  hitherto  always  found 
me  very  entertaining,"  he  claimed  boldly,  his  smil- 
ing eyes  on  her. 

"Indeed!" 

"But  young  ladies  are  peculiar.  Sometimes  we 
think  we're  entertaining  them  when  we  ain't." 

"I'm  sure  you  are  right." 

"And  other  times  they're  interested  when  they 
pretend  they're  not." 

"It  must  be  comforting  to  your  vanity  to  think 
that,"  she  said  coldly.  For  his  words  had  recalled 
similar  ones  spoken  by  him  twenty-four  hours  ear- 
lier, which  in  turn  had  recalled  his  unpardonable  sin.  \ 

The  lieutenant  of  rangers  appeared  over  the  hill' 
and  descended  into  the  draw.  Miss  Kinney  went' 
to  meet  him. 


A   TEXAS  RANGER 69 

"He  got  away?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  ma'am.  I  lost  him  in  some  of  these  hol- 
lows, or  rather  I  never  found  him.  I'm  going  to 
take  my  hawss  and  swing  round  in  a  circle." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me  ?"  she  smiled. 

"I  been  thinking  that  the  best  thing  would  be 
for  you  to  go  to  the  Mai  Pais  mines  with  Mr, 
Neill." 

"Who  is  Mr.   Neill?" 

"The  gentleman  over  there  by  the  fire." 

"Must  I  go  with  him?  I  should  feel  safer  in 
your  company,  lieutenant." 

"You'll  be  safe  enough  in  his,  Miss  Kinney." 

"You  know  me  then  ?"  she  asked. 

"I've  seen  you  at  Fort  Lincoln.  You  were 
pointed  out  to  me  once  as  a  new  teacher." 

"But  I  don't  want  to  go  to  the  Mai  Pais  mines. 
I  want  to  go  to  Fort  Lincoln.  As  to  this  gentleman, 
I  have  no  claims  on  him  and  shall  not  trouble  him 
to  burden  himself  with  me." 

Steve  laughed.  "I  don't  reckon  he  would  think 
it  a  terrible  burden,  ma'am.  And  about  the  Mai 
Pais — this  is  how  it  is.  Fort  Lincoln  is  all  of  sixty 
miles  from  here  as  the  crow  flies.  The  mines  are 
about  seventeen.  My  notion  was  you  could  get 
there  and  take  the  stage  to-morrow  to  your  town." 

"What  shall  I  do  for  a  horse?" 

"I  expect  Mr.  Neill  will  let  you  ride  his.  Hf,  can 
walk  beside  the  hawss." 


70  "A   TEXAS  RANGER 

"That  won't  do  at  all.  Why  should  I  put  him  to 
that  inconvenience?  I'll  walk  myself." 

The  ranger  flashed  his  friendly  smile  at  her.  He 
had  an  instinct  that  served  him  with  women.  "Any 
way  that  suits  you  and  him  suits  me.  I'm  right 
sorry  that  I've  got  to  leave  you  and  take  out  after 
that  hound  Struve,  but  you  may  take  my  word  for 
it  that  this  gentleman  will  look  after  you  all  right 
and  bring  you  safe  to  the  Mai  Pais." 

"He  is  a  stranger  to  me.  I've  only  met  him  once 
and  on  that  occasion  not  pleasantly.  I  don't  like  to- 
put  myself  under  an  obligation  to  him.  But  of 
course  if  I  must  I  must." 

"That's  the  right  sensible  way  to  look  at  it.  In 
this  little  old  world  we  got  to  do  a  heap  we  don't 
want  to  do.  For  instance,  I'd  rather  see  you  to  the 
Mai  Pais  than  hike  over  the  hills  after  this  fellow," 
he  concluded  gallantly. 

Neill,  who  had  been  packing  the  coffee-pot  and 
the  frying-pan,  now  sauntered  forward  with  his 
horse. 

"Well,  what's  the  program  ?"  he  wanted  to  know. 

"It's  you  and  Miss  Kinney  for  the  Mai  Pais,  me 
for  the  trail.  I  ain't  very  likely  to  find  Mr.  Struve, 
but  you  can't  always  sometimes  tell.  Anyhow,  I'm 
going  to  take  a  shot  at  it,"  the  ranger  answered. 

"And  at  him?"  his  friend  suggested. 

"Oh,  I  reckon  not.  He  may  be  a  sure-enougii 
wolf,  but  I  expect  this  ain't  his  day  to  howl." 


A    TEXAS  RANGER 71 

Steve  whistled  to  his  pony,  swung  to  the  saddle 
when  it  trotted  up,  and  waved  his  hat  in  farewell. 

His  "Adios!"  drifted  back  to  them  from  the 
crown  of  the  hill  just  before  he  disappeared  over 
its  edge. 


CHAPTER  VI 
"SOMEBODY'S  ACTING  MIGHTY  FOOLISH." 

Larry  Neill  watched  him  vanish  and  then  turned 
smiling-  to  Miss  Kinney. 

"All  aboard  for  the  Mai  Pais,"  he  sang  out  cheer- 
fully. 

Too  cheerfully  perhaps.  His  assurance  that  all 
was  well  between  them  chilled  her  manner.  He 
might  forgive  himself  easily  if  he  was  that  sort  of 
man ;  she  would  at  least  show  him  she  was  no  party 
to  it.  He  had  treated  her  outrageously,  had  man- 
handled her  with  deliberate  intent  to  insult.  She 
would  show  him  no  one  alive  could  treat  her  so  and 
calmly  assume  to  her  that  it  was  all  right. 

Her  cool  eyes  examined  the  horse,  and  him. 

"I  don't  quite  see  how  you  expect  to  arrange  it, 
v  Mr.  Neill.  That  is  your  name,  isn't  it?"  she  added 
indifferently. 

"That's  my  name — Larry  Neill.  Easiest  thing  in 
the  world  to  arrange.  We  ride  pillion  if  it  suits 
you ;  if  not,  I'll  walk." 

"Neither  plan  suits  me,"  she  announced  curtly, 
her  gaze  on  the  far-away  hills. 

22 


A   TEXAS  RANGER 73 

He  glanced  at  her  in  quick  surprise,  then  made 
the  mistake  of  letting  himself  smile  at  her  frosty 
aloofness  instead  of  being  crestfallen  by  it.  She 
happened  to  look  round  and  catch  that  smile  before 
he  could  extinguish  "it.  Her  petulance  hardened  in- 
stantly to  a  resolution. 

"I  don't  quite  know  what  we're  going  to  do  about 
it — unless  you  walk,"  he  proposed,  amused  at  the 
absurdity  of  his  suggestion. 

"That's  just  what  I'm  going  to  do,"  she  retorted 
promptly. 

"What!"  He  wheeled  on  her  with  an  astonished 
smile  on  his  face. 

This  served  merely  to  irritate  her. 

"I  said  I  was  going  to  walk." 

"Walk  seventeen  miles  ?" 

"Seventy  if  I  choose." 

"Nonsense!    Of  course  you  won't." 

Her  eyebrows  lifted  in  ironic  demurrer.  "I  think 
you  must  let  me  be  the  judge  of  that,"  she  said 
gently. 

"Walk!"  he  reiterated.  "Why,  you're  walked 
out.  You  couldn't  go  a  mile.  What  do  you  take 
me  for?  Think  I'm  going  to  let  you  come  that  on 


me." 


"I  don't  quite  see  how  you  can  help  it,  Mr.  Neill," 
she  answered. 

"Help  it!  Why,  it  ain't  reasonable.  Of  course 
you'll  ride." 

"Of  course  I  won't." 


74  'A   TEXAS  RANGER 

She  set  off  briskly,  almost  jauntily,  despite  her 
tired  feet  and  aching  limbs. 

"Well,  if  that  don't  beat "  He  broke  off  to 

laugh  at  the  situation.  After  she  had  gone  twenty 
steps  he  called  after  her  in  a  voice  that  did  not  sup- 
press its  chuckle :  "You  ain't  going  the  right  dU 
rection,  Miss  Kinney." 

She  whirled  round  on  him  in  anger.  How  dared 
he  laugh  at  her  ? 

"Which  is  the  right  way?"  she  choked. 

"North  by  west  is  about  it." 

She  was  almost  reduced  to  stamping  her  foot 

Without  condescending  to  ask  more  definite  in- 
structions she  struck  off  at  haphazard,  and  by 
chance  guessed  right.  There  was  nothing  for  it  bul'. 
to  pursue.  Wherefore  the  man  pursued.  The 
horse  at  his  heels  hampered  his  stride,  but  he  caught 
up  with  her  soon. 

"Somebody's  acting  mighty  foolish,"  he  said. 

She  said  nothing  very  eloquently. 

"If  I  need  punishing,  ma'am,  don't  punish  your- 
self, but  me.  You  ain't  able  to  walk  and  that's  a 
fact." 

She  gave  her  silent  attention  strictly  to  the  busi^ 
ness  of  making  progress  through  the  cactus  and  the 
sand. 

"Say  I'm  all  you  think  I  am.  You  can  trample 
on  me  proper  after  we  get  to  the  Mai  Pais.  Don't 
have  to  know  me  at  all  if  you  don't  want  to.  Won't 
you  ride,  ma'am?  Please!" 


A    TEXAS  RANGER 75 

His  distress  filled  her  with  a  fierce  delight.  She 
stumbled  defiantly  forward. 

He  pondered  a  while  before  he  asked  quietly : 

"Ain't  you  going  to  ride,  Miss  Kinney?" 

"No,  I'm  not.  Better  go  on.  Pray  don't  let  me 
detain  you." 

"All  right.  See  that  peak  with  the  spur  to  it? 
Well,  you  keep  that  directly  in  line  and  make 
straight  for  it.  I'll  say  good-by  now,  ma'am.  I  got 
to  hurry  to  be  in  time  for  dinner.  I'll  send  some 
one  out  from  the  camp  to  meet  you  that  ain't  such 
a  villain  as  I  am." 

He  swung  to  the  saddle,  put  spurs  to  his  pony, 
and  cantered  away.  She  could  scarce  believe  it, 
even  when  he  rode  straight  over  the  hill  without  a 
backward  glance.  He  would  never  leave  her. 
Surely  he  would  not  do  that.  She  could  never 
reach  the  camp,  and  he  knew  it.  To  be  left  alone  in 
the  desert  again ;  the  horror  of  it  broke  her  down, 
but  not  immediately.  She  went  proudly  forward 
with  her  head  in  the  air  at  first.  He  might  look 
round.  Perhaps  he  was  peeping  at  her  from  behind 
some  cholla.  She  would  not  gratify  him  by  show- 
ing any  interest  in  his  whereabouts.  But  presently 
she  began  to  lag,  to  scan  draws  and  mesas  anxiously 
for  him,  even  to  call  aloud  in  an  ineffective  little 
voice  which  the  empty  hills  echoed  faintly.  But 
from  him  there  came  no  answer. 

She  sat  down  and  wept  in  self-pity.  Of  course 
she  had  told  him  to  go,  but  he  knew  well  enough 


76  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

she  did  not  mean  it.  A  magnanimous  man  would 
have  taken  a  better  revenge  on  an  exhausted  girl 
than  to  leave  her  alone  in  such  a  spot,  and  after  she 
had  endured  such  a  terrible  experience  as  she  had. 
She  had  read  about  the  chivalry  of  Western  men. 
Yet  these  two  had  ridden  away  on  their  horses  and 
left  her  to  live  or  die  as  chance  willed  it. 

"Now,  don't  you  feel  so  bad,  Miss  Margaret.  I 
wasn't  aiming  really  to  leave  you,  of  course,"  a 
voice  interrupted  her  sobs  to  say. 

She  looked  through  the  laced  fingers  that  covered 
her  face,  mightily  relieved,  but  not  yet  willing  to 
confess  it.  The  engineer  had  made  a  circuit  and 
stolen  up  quietly  behind. 

"Oh !  I  thought  you  had  gone,"  she  said  as  care- 
lessly as  she  could  with  a  voice  not  clear  of  tears. 

"Were  you  crying  because  you  were  afraid  I 
hadn't?"  he  asked. 

"I  ran  a  cactus  into  my  foot.  And  I  didn't  say 
anything  about  crying." 

"Then  if  your  foot  is  hurt  you  will  want  to  ride. 
That  seventeen  miles  might  be  too  long  a  stroll 
before  you  get  through  with  it." 

"I  don't  know  what  I'll  do  yet,"  she  answered 
shortly. 

"I  know  what  you'll  do." 

"Yes?" 

"You'll  quit  your  foolishness  and  get  on  this 
hawss." 

She  flushed  angrily.    "I  won't!" 


A    TEXAS  RANGER 77 

He  stooped  down,  gathered  her  up  in  his  arms, 
and  lifted  her  to  the  saddle. 

"That's  what  you're  going  to  do  whether  you 
like  it  or  not,"  he  informed  her. 

"How  are  you  going  to  make  me  stay  here,  now 
you  have  put  me  here?" 

'      "I'm  going  to  get  on  behind  and  hold  you  if  it's 
necessary." 

He  was  sensible  enough  of  the  folly  of  it  all,  but 
he  did  not  see  what  else  he  could  do.  She  had 
chosen  to  punish  him  through  herself  in  a  way  that 
was  impossible.  It  was  a  childish  thing  to  do,  born 
of  some  touch  of  hysteria  her  experience  had  in- 
duced, and  he  could  only  treat  her  as  a  child  till  she 
was  safely  back  in  civilization. 

Their  wills  met  in  their  eyes,  and  the  man's,  mas- 
culine and  dominant,  won  the  battle.  The  long 
fringe  of  hers  fell  to  the  soft  cheeks. 

"It  won't  be  at  all  necessary,"  she  promised. 

"Are  you  sure  ?" 

"Quite  sure." 

"That's  the  way  to  talk." 

"If  you  care  to  know,"  she  boiled  over,  "I  think 
you  the  most  hateful  man  I  ever  met." 

"That's  all  right,"  he  grinned  ruefully.  "You're 
the  most  contrairy  woman  /  ever  bumped  into,  so  I 
reckon  honors  are  easy." 

He  strode  along  beside  the  horse,  mile  after  mile, 
in  a  silence  which  neither  of  them  cared  to  break. 
The  sap  of  youth  flowed  free  in  him,  was  in  his 


78  A   TEXAS  RANGER     

elastic  tread,  in  the  set  of  his  broad  shoulders,  in  the 
carriage  of  his  small,  well-shaped  head.  He  was  as 
lean-loined  and  lithe  as  a  panther,  and  his  stride  ate 
up  the  miles  as  easily. 

They  nooned  at  a  spring  in  the  dry  wash  of 
Bronco  Creek.  After  he  had  unsaddled  and  pick- 
eted he  condescended  to  explain  to  her. 

"We'll  stay  here  three  hours  or  mebbe  four 
through  the  heat  of  the  day." 

"Is  it  far  now  ?"  she  asked  wearily. 

"Not  more  than  seven  miles  I  should  judge.  Are 
you  about  all  in?" 

"Oh,  no!  I'm  all  right,  thank  you,"  she  said, 
with  forced  sprightliness. 

His  shrewd,  hard  gaze  went  over  her  and  knew 
better. 

"You  lie  down  tinder  those  live-oaks  and  I'll  get 
some  grub  ready/' 

"I'll  cook  lunch  while  you  lie  down.  You  must 
be  tired  walking  so  far  through  the  sun/'  said  Miss 
Kinney. 

"Have  I  got  to  pick  you  up  again  and  carry  you 
there?" 

"No,  you  haven't.  You  keep  your  hands  off  me," 
she  flashed. 

But  nevertheless  she  betook  herself  to  the  shade 
of  the  live-oaks  and  lay  down.  When  he  went  to 
call  her  for  lunch  he  found  her  fast  asleep  with  her 
head  pillowed  on  her  arm.  She  looked  so  haggard 
that  he  had  not  the  heart  to  rouse  her. 


A    TEXAS  RANGER 79 

v  "Let  her  sleep.  It  will  be  the  making  of  her. 
She's  fair  done.  But  ain't  she  plucky?  And  that 
spirited !  Ready  to  fight  so  long  as  she  can  drag  a 
foot.  And  her  so  sorter  slim  and  delicate.  Funny 
how  she  hangs  onto  her  grudge  against  me.  Sho! 
I  hadn't  ought  to  have  kissed  her,  but  I'll  never  teU 
her  so." 

He  went  back  to  his  coffee  and  bacon,  dined, 
and  lay  down  for  a  siesta  beneath  a  cottonwood 
some  distance  removed  from  the  live-oaks  where 
Miss  Kinney  reposed.  For  two  or  three  hours  he 
slept  soundly,  having  been  in  the  saddle  all  night. 
It  was  mid-afternoon  when  he  awoke,  and  the  sun 
was  sliding  down  the  blue  vault  toward  the  saw- 
toothed  range  to  the  west.  He  found  the  girl  still 
lost  to  the  world  in  deep  slumber. 

The  man  from  the  Panhandle  looked  across  the 
desert  that  palpitated  with  heat,  and  saw  through 
the  marvelous  atmosphere  the  smoke  of  the  ore- 
mills  curling  upward.  He  was  no  tenderfoot,  to 
suppose  that  ten  minutes'  brisk  walking  would  take 
him  to  them.  He  guessed  the  distance  at  about 
two  and  a  half  hour's  travel. 

"This  is  ce'tainly  a  hot  evening.  I  expect  we 
better  wait  till  sundown  before  moving,"  he  said 
aloud. 

Having  made  up  his  mind,  it  was  characteristic 
of  him  that  he  was  asleep  again  in  five  minutes. 
This  time  she  wakened  before  him,  to  look  into  a 
wonderful  sea  of  gold  that  filled  the  crotches  of  the 


8o  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

hills  between  the  purple  teeth.  No  sun  was  to  be 
seen — it  had  sunk  behind  the  peaks — but  the  trail 
of  its  declension  was  marked  by  that  great  pool  of 
glory  into  which  she  gazed. 

Margaret  crossed  the  wash  to  the  cottonwood  un- 
der which  her  escort  was  lying.  He  was  fast  asleep 
on  his  back,  his  gray  shirt  open  at  the  bronzed, 
sinewy  neck.  The  supple,  graceful  lines  of  him 
were  relaxed,  but  even  her  inexperience  appreciated 
the  splendid  shoulders  and  the  long  rippling  mus- 
cles. The  maidenly  instinct  in  her  would  allow  but 
one  glance  at  him,  and  she  was  turning  away  when 
his  eyes  opened. 

Her  face,  judging  from  its  tint,  might  have  ab- 
sorbed some  of  the  sun-glow  into  which  she  had 
been  gazing. 

"I  came  to  see  if  you  were  awake,"  she  ex- 
plained. 

"Yes,  ma'am,  I  am,"  he  smiled. 

"I  was  thinking  that  we  ought  to  be  going.  It 
will  be  dark  before  we  reach  Mai  Pais." 

He  leaped  to  his  feet  and  faced  her. 

"Crect." 

"Are  you  hungry?" 

"Yes." 

He  relit  the  fire  and  put  on  the  coffee-pot  before 
he  saddled  the  horse.  She  ate  and  drank  hurriedly, 
soon  announcing  herself  ready  for  the  start. 

She  mounted  from  his  hand;  then  without  ask- 
ing any  questions  he  swung  to  a  place  behind  her. 


'A    TEXAS  RANGER 


"We'll  both  ride,"  he  said. 

The  stars  were  out  before  they  reached  the  out- 
skirts of  the  mining-camp.  At  the  first  house  of 
the  rambling  suburbs  Neill  slipped  to  the  ground 
and  walked  beside  her  toward  the  old  adobe  plaza 
of  the  Mexican  town. 

People  passed  them  on  the  run,  paying  no  atten- 
tion to  them,  and  others  dribbled  singly  or  in  small 
groups  from  the  houses  and  saloons.  All  of  them 
were  converging  excitedly  to  the  plaza. 

"Must  be  something  doing  here,"  said  her  guide. 
"Now  I  wonder  what!" 

Round  the  next  turn  he  found  his  answer.  There 
must  have  been  present  two  or  three  hundred  men, 
mostly  miners,  and  their  gazes  all  focussed  on  two 
figures  which  stood  against  a  door  at  the  top  of  five 
or  six  steps.  One  of  the  forms  was  crouched  on  its 
knees,  abject,  cringing  terror  stamped  on  the  white 
villainous  face  upturned  to  the  electric  light  above. 
But  the  other  was  on  its  feet,  a  revolver  in  each 
hand,  a  smile  of  reckless  daring  on  the  boyish  coun- 
tenance that  just  now  stood  for  law  and  order  in 
Mai  Pais. 

The  man  beside  the  girl  read  the  situation  at  a 
glance.  The  handcuffed  figure  groveling  on  the 
steps  belonged  to  the  murderer  Struve,  and  over 
him,  stood  lightly  the  young  ranger  Steve  Fraser. 
He  was  standing  off  a  mob  that  had  gathered  to 
Jyiich  his  prisoner,  and  one  glance  at  him  was 
**>Ough  to  explain  how  he  had  won  his  reputation 


82 A    TEXAS  RANGER 

as  the  most  dashing  and  fearless  member  of  a 
singularly  efficient  force.  For  plain  to  be  read  as 
the  danger  that  confronted  him  was  the  fact  that 
peril  was  as  the  breath  of  life  to  his  nostrils. 


CHAPTER  VI!     . 

ENTER  MR.   DUNKE 

"He's  my  prisoner  and  you  can't  have  him,"  the 
girl  heard  the  ranger  say. 

The  answer  came  in  a  roar  of  rage.  "By  God, 
we'll  show  you!" 

"If  you  want  him,  take  him.  But  don't  come 
unless  you  are  ready  to  pay  the  price !"  warned  the 
officer. 

He  was  bareheaded  and  his  dark-brown  curly 
hair  crisped  round  his  forehead  engagingly.  Round 
his  right  hand  was  tied  a  blood-stained  handker- 
chief. A  boy  he  looked,  but  his  record  was  a  man's, 
and  so  the  mob  that  swayed  uncertainly  below  him 
knew.  His  gray  eyes  were  steady  as  steel  despite 
the  fire  that  glowed  in  them.  He  stood  at  ease, 
with  nerve  unshaken,  the  curious  lifted  look  of  a 
great  moment  about  the  poise  of  his  graceful 
figure. 

"It  is  Lieutenant  Eraser,"  cried  Margaret,  but 
as  she  looked  down  she  missed  her  escort. 

An  instant,  and  she  saw  him.  He  was  circling 
the  outskirts  of  the  crowd  at  a  run.  For  just  a 
heart-beat  she  wondered  what  he  was  about,  but 

83 


84  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

her  brain  told  her  before  her  eye.  He  swung  in 
toward  the  steps,  shoulders  down,  and  bored  a  way 
through  the  stragglers  straight  to  the  heart  of  the 
turmoil.  Taking  the  steps  in  two  jumps,  he  stood 
beside  the  ranger. 

"Hello,  Tennessee,"  grinned  that  young  man. 
"Come  to  be  a  pall-bearer  ?" 

"Hello,  Texas!  Can't  say,  I'm  sure.  Just 
drapped  in  to  see  what's  doing." 

Steve's  admiring  gaze  approved  him  a  man  from 
the  ground  up.  But  the  ranger  only  laughed  and 
said :  "The  band's  going  to  play  a  right  lively  tune, 
looks  like." 

The  man  from  the  Panhandle  had  his  revolvers 
out  already.  "Yes,  there  will  be  a  hot  time  in  the 
old  town  to-night,  I  shouldn't  wonder." 

But  for  the  moment  the  attackers  were  inclined 
to  parley.  Their  leader  stepped  out  and  held  up  a 
hand  for  a  suspension  of  hostilities.  He  was  a  large 
man,  heavily  built,  and  powerful  as  a  bear.  There 
was  about  him  an  air  of  authority,  as  of  one  used 
to  being  obeyed.  He  was  dressed  roughly  enough 
in  corduroy  and  miner's  half-leg  boots,  but  these 
were  of  the  most  expensive  material  and  cut.  His 
cold  gray  eye  and  thin  lips  denied  the  manner  of 
superficial  heartiness  he  habitually  carried.  If  one 
scratched  the  veneer  of  good  nature  it  was  to  find 
a  hard  selfishness  that  went  to  his  core. 

"It's  Mr.  Dunke !"  the  young  school-teacher  cried 
aloud  in  surprise. 


A    TEXAS  RANGER 


"I've  got  something  to  say  to  you,  Mr.  Lieuten- 
ant Ranger/'  he  announced,  with  importance. 

"Uncork  it,"  was  Eraser's  advice. 

"We  don't  want  to  have  any  trouble  with  you, 
but  we're  here  for  business.  This  man  is  a  cold- 
blooded murderer  and  we  mean  to  do  justice  on 
him." 

Steve  laughed  insolently.  "If  all  them  that 
hollers  for  justice  the  loudest  got  it  done  to  therr^ 
Mr.  Dunke,  there'd  be  a  right  smart  shrinkage  in 
the  census  returns." 

Dunke's  eye  gleamed  with  anger.  "We're  not 
here  to  listen  to  any  smart  guys,  sir.  Will  you  give 
up  Struve  to  us  or  will  you  not?" 

"That's  easy.    I  will  not." 

The  mob  leader  turned  to  the  Tennessean. 
"Young  man,  I  don't  know  who  you  are,  but  if  you 
mean  to  butt  into  a  quarrel  that  ain't  yours  all 
I've  got  to  say  is  that  you're  hunting  an  early 
grave.". 

"We'll  know  about  that  later,  seh." 

"You  stand  pat,  do  you?" 

"Well,  seh,  I  draw  to  a  pair  that  opens  the  pot 
anyhow,"  answered  Larry,  with  a  slight  motion  of 
his  weapons. 

Dunke  fell  back  into  the  mob,  a  shot  rang  out 
into  the  night,  and  the  crowd  swayed  forward.  But 
at  that  instant  the  door  behind  Fraser  swung  open. 
!A  frightened  voice  sounded  in  his  ear. 

"Quick,  Steve!" 


86 A    TEXAS  RANGER 

The  ranger  slewed  his  head,  gave  an  exclamation 
of  surprise,  and  hurriedly  threw  his  prisoner  into 
the  open  passage. 

"Back,  Larry!    Lively,  my  boy!"  he  ordered. 

Neill  leaped  back  in  a  spatter  of  bullets  that  rained 
round  him.  Next  moment  the  door  was  swung  shut 
again. 

"You  all  right,  Nell?"  asked  Eraser  quickly  of 
the  young  woman  who  had  opened  the  door,  and 
upon  her  affirmative  reply  he  added:  "Everybody 
alive  and  kicking?  Nobody  get  a  pill?" 

"I'm  all  right  for  one,"  returned  Larry.  "But 
we  had  better  get  out  of  this  passage.  I  notice  our 
friends  the  enemy  are  sending  their  cards  through 
the  door  after  us  right  anxious." 

As  he  spoke  a  bullet  tore  a  jagged  splinter  from 
a  panel  and  buried  itself  in  the  ceiling.  A  second 
and  a  third  followed. 

"That's  c'rect.  We'd  better  be  'Not  at  home' 
when  they  call.  Eh,  Nell?" 

Steve  put  an  arm  affectionately  round  the  waist 

of  the  young  woman  who  had  come  in  such  timely 

fashion  to  their  aid  and  ran  through  the  passage 

with  her  to  the  room  beyond,  Neill  following  with 

>  the  prisoner. 

"You're  wounded,  Steve,"  the  young  woman 
cried. 

He  shrugged.  "Scratch  in  the  hand.  Got  it  when 
I  arrested  him.  Had  to  shoot  his  trigger  finger 
off." 


A    TEXAS  RANGER 87 

"But  I  must  see  to  it." 

"Not  now ;  wait  till  we're  out  of  the  woods."  He 
turned  to  his  friend :  "Nell,  let  me  introduce  to  you 
Mr.  Neill,  from  the  Panhandle.  Mr.  Neill,  this  is 
my  sister.  I  don't  know  how  come  she  to  drop 
down  behind  us  like  an  angel  from  heaven,  but 
that's  a  story  will  wait.  The  thing  we  got  to  do 
right  now  is  to  light  a  shuck  out  of  here." 

His  friend  nodded,  listening  to  the  sound  of 
blows  battering  the  outer  door.  "They'll  have  it 
down  in  another  minute.  We've  got  to  burn  the 
wind  seven  ways  for  Sunday." 

"What  I'd  like  to  know  is  whether  there  are  two 
entrances  to  this  rat-trap.  Do  you  happen  to  know, 
Nell  ?"  asked  Eraser  of  his  sister. 

"Three,"  she  answered  promptly.  "There's  a  back 
door  into  the  court  and  a  trap-door  to  the  roof. 
That's  the  way  I  came." 

"And  it's  the  way  we'll  go.  I  might  a-known 
you'd  know  all  about  it  give  you  a  quarter  of  a 
chance,"  her  brother  said  admiringly.  "We'll  duck 
through  the  roof  and  let  Mr.  Dunke  hold  the  sack. 
Lead  the  way,  sis." 

She  guided  them  along  another  passageway  and 
up  some  stairs  to  the  second  story.  The  trap-door 
that  opened  to  the  flat  roof  was  above  the  bed  about 
six  feet.  Neill  caught  the  edges  of  the  narrow 
opening,  drew  himself  up,  and  wriggled  through.. 
Fraser  lifted  his  sister  by  the  waist  high  enough  for 
Larry  to  catch  her  hands  and  draw  her  up. 


A   TEXAS  RANGER 


"Hurry,  Steve,"  she  urged.  "They've  broken 
in.  Hurry,  dear." 

The  ranger  unlocked  his  prisoner's  handcuffs  and 
tossed  them  up  to  the  Tennessean. 

"Get  a  move  on  you,  Mr.  Struve,  unless  you  want 
to  figure  in  a  necktie  party,"  he  advised. 

But  the  convict's  flabby  muscles  were  unequal  to 
the  task  of  getting  him  through  the  opening.  Be- 
sides which,  his  wounded  hand,  tied  up  with  a 
blood-soaked  rag,  impeded  him.  He  had  to  be 
pulled  from  above  and  boosted  from  behind. 
Fraser,  fit  to  handle  his  weight  in  wildcats,  as  an  ad- 
mirer had  once  put  it,  found  no  trouble  in  follow- 
ing. Steps  were  already  heard  on  the  stairs  below 
when  Larry  slipped  the  cover  to  its  place  and  put 
upon  it  a  large  flat  stone  which  he  found  on  the 
roof  for  that  purpose.  The  fugitives  crawled  along 
the  roof  on  their  hands  and  knees  so  as  to  escape 
the  observation  of  the  howling  mob  outside  the 
house.  Presently  they  came  into  the  shadows,  and 
Nell  rose,  ran  forward  to  a  little  ladder  which  led 
to  a  higher  roof,  and  swiftly  ascended.  Neill,  who 
was  at  her  heels,  could  not  fail  to  note  the  light  sup- 
ple grace  with  which  she  moved.  He  thought  he 
had  never  seen  a  more  charming  woman  in  appear- 
ance. She  still  somehow  retained  the  slim  figure 
and  taking  ways  of  a  girl,  in  conjunction  with  the 
soft  rounded  curves  of  a  present-day  Madonna. 

Two  more  roofs  were  crossed  before  they  came 
to  another  open  trap-door.  A  lamp  in  the  room 


'A   TEXAS  RANGER 89 

below  showed  it  to  be  a  bedroom  with  two  cots  in  it. 
Two  children,  one  of  them  a  baby,  were  asleep  in 
these.  A  sweet-faced  woman  past  middle  age 
looked  anxiously  up  with  hands  clasped  together  as 
in  prayer. 

"Is  it  you,  Nellie?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  mother,  and  Steve,  and  his  friend.  We're 
all  right." 

Fraser  dropped  through,  and  his  sister  let  herself 
down  into  his  arms.  Struve  followed,  and  was  im- 
mediately handcuffed.  Larry  put  back  the  trap 
and  fastened  it  from  within  before  he  dropped 
down. 

"We  shall  have  to  leave  at  once,  mother,  with- 
out waiting  to  dress  the  children,"  explained  Fraser. 
"Wrap  them  in  blankets  and  take  some  clothes 
along.  I'll  drop  you  at  the  hotel  and  slip  my  prison- 
er into  the  jail  the  back  way  if  I  can;  that  is,  if  an- 
other plan  I  have  doesn't  work." 

The  oldest  child  awoke  and  caught  sight  of 
Fraser.  He  reached  out  his  hands  in  excitement 
and  began  to  call :  "Uncle  Steve !  Uncle  Steve  back 
again." 

Fraser  picked  up  the  youngster.  "Yes,  Uncle 
Steve  is  back.  But  we're  going  to  play  a  game  that 
Indians  are  after  us.  Webb  must  be  good  and  keep 
very,  very  still.  He  mustn't  say  a  word  till  uncle 
tells  him  he  may." 

The  little  fellow  clapped  his  hands.  "Goody, 
goody !  Shall  we  begin  now  ?" 


90 A    TEXAS  RANGER 

"Right  this  minute,  son.  Better  take  your  money 
with  you,  mother.  Is  father  here?" 

"No,  he  is  at  the  ranch.  He  went  down  in  the 
stage  to-day." 

"All  right,  friends.  We'll  take  the  back  way. 
Tennessee,  will  you  look  out  for  Mr.  Struve?  Sis 
will  want  to  carry  the  baby." 

They  passed  quietly  down-stairs  and  out  the 
back  door.  The  starry  night  enveloped  them  coldly, 
and  the  moon  looked  down  through  rifted  clouds. 
Nature  was  peaceful  as  her  own  silent  hills,  but  the 
raucous  jangle  of  cursing  voices  from  a  distance 
made  discord  of  the  harmony.  They  slipped  along 
through  the  shadows,  meeting  none  except  oc- 
casional figures  hurrying  to  the  plaza.  At  the  hotel 
door  the  two  men  separated  from  the  rest  of  the 
party,  and  took  with  them  their  prisoner. 

"I'm  going  to  put  him  for  safe-keeping  down  the 
shaft  of  a  mine  my  father  and  I  own,"  explained 
Steve.  "He  wouldn't  be  safe  in  the  jail,  because 
Dunke,  for  private  reasons,  has  made  up  his  mind 
to  put  out  his  lights." 

"Private  reasons?"  echoed  the  engineer. 

"Mighty  good  ones,  too.  Ain't  that  right?"  de- 
manded the  ranger  of  Struve. 

The  convict  cursed,  though  his  teeth  still  chat- 
tered with  fright  from  the  narrow  escape  he  had 
had,  but  through  his  prison  jargon  ran  a  hint  of 
some  power  he  had  over  the  man  Dunke.  It  was 


A   TEXAS  RANGER 91 

plain  he  thought  the  latter  had  incited  the  lynching 
in  order  to  shut  the  convict's  mouth  forever. 

"Where  is  this  shaft  ?"  asked  Neill. 

"Up  a  gulch  about  half  a  mile  from  here." 

Fraser's  eyes  fixed  themselves  on  a  young  man 
Who  passed  on  the  run.  He  suddenly  put  his 
fingers  to  his  lips  and  gave  a  low  whistle.  The  run- 
ning man  stopped  instantly,  his  head  alert  to  catch 
the  direction  from  which  the  sound  had  come. 
Steve  whistled  again  and  the  stranger  turned  to- 
ward them. 

"It's  Brown,  one  of  my  rangers,"  explained  the 
lieutenant. 

Brown,  it  appeared,  had  just  reached  town  and 
stabled  his  horse  when  word  came  to  him  that  there 
was  trouble  on  the  plaza.  He  had  been  making  for 
it  when  his  officer's  whistle  stopped  him. 

"It's  all  over  except  getting  this  man  to  safety. 
I'm  going  to  put  him  down  an  abandoned  shaft  of 
the  Jackrabbit.  He'll  be  safe  there,  and  nobody 
will  think  to  look  for  him  in  any  such  place,"  said 
Fraser. 

The  man  from  the  Panhandle  drew  his  friend 
to  one  side.  "Do  you  need  me  any  longer?  I  left 
Miss  Kinney  right  on  the  edge  of  that  mob,  and  I 
expect  I  better  look  around  and  see  where  she  is 
now." 

"All  right.  No,  we  don't  need  you.  Take  care 
you  don't  let  any  of  these  miners  recognize  you. 


92 'A    TEXAS  RANGER 

They  might  make  you  trouble  while  they're  still  hot 
Well,  so-long.    See  you  to-morrow  at  the  hotel." 

The  Tennessean  looked  to  his  guns  to  make  sure 
they  hung  loose  in  the  scabbards,  then  stepped  brisk* 
Jjr  back  toward  the  plaza. 


CHAPTER  VIII  - 
"WOULD  YOU  WORRY  ABOUT  ME?** 

Margaret  Kinney's  heart  ceased  beating  in  that 
breathless  instant  after  the  two  dauntless  friends 
had  flung  defiance  to  two  hundred.  There  was  a 
sudden  tightening  of  her  throat,  a  fixing  of  dilated 
eyes  on  what  would  have  been  a  thrilling  spectacle 
had  it  not  meant  so  much  more  to  her.  For  as  she 
leaned  forward  in  the  saddle  with  parted  lips  she 
knew  a  passionate  surge  of  fear  for  one  of  the  ap- 
parently doomed  men  that  went  through  her  like 
swift  poison,  that  left  her  dizzy  with  the  shock  of  it. 

The  thought  of  action  came  to  her  too  late.  As 
Dunke  stepped  back  to  give  the  signal  for  attack  she 
cried  out  his  name,  but  her  voice  was  drowned  in 
the  yell  of  rage  that  filled  the  street.  She  tried  to 
spur  her  horse  into  the  crowd,  to  force  a  way  to  the 
men  standing  with  such  splendid  fearlessness  above 
this  thirsty  pack  of  wolves.  But  the  denseness  of 
the  throng  held  her  fixed  even  while  revolvers 
flashed. 

And  then  the  miracle  happened.  She  saw  the 
door  open  and  limned  in  a  penumbra  of  darkness 
the  white  comely  face  of  a  woman.  She  saw  the 

93 


94 A    TEXAS  RANGER 

beleaguered  men  sway  back  and  the  door  close  in 
the  faces  of  the  horde.  She  saw  bullets  go  crashing 
into  the  door,  heard  screams  of  baffled  fury,  and 
presently  the  crash  of  axes  into  the  panels  of  the 
barrier  that  held  them  back.  It  seemed  to  fade 
away  before  her  gaze,  and  instead  of  it  she  saw  a 
doorway  full  of  furious  crowding  miners. 

Then  presently  her  heart  stood  still  again.  From 
her  higher  place  in  the  saddle,  well  back  in  the  out- 
skirts of  the  throng,  in  the  dim  light  she  made  out 
a  figure  crouching  on  the  roof;  then  another,  and 
another,  and  a  fourth.  She  suffered  an  agony  of 
fear  in  the  few  heart-beats  before  they  began  to  slip 
away.  Her  eyes  swept  the  faces  near  her.  One 
and  all  they  were  turned  upon  the  struggling  mass 
of  humanity  at  the  entrance  to  the  passage.  When 
she  dared  look  again  to  the  roof  the  fugitives  were 
gone.  She  thought  she  perceived  them  swarming 
up  a  ladder  to  the  higher  roof,  but  in  the  surround- 
ing grayness  she  could  not  be  sure  of  this. 

The  stamping  of  feet  inside  the  house  continued. 
Once  there  was  the  sound  of  an  exploding  revolver. 
After  a  long  time  a  heavy  figure  struggled  into 
view  through  the  roof-trap.  It  was  Dunke  himself. 
He  caught  sight  of  the  ladder,  gave  a  shout  of 
triumph,  and  was  off  in  pursuit  of  his  flying  prey. 
As  others  appeared  on  the  roof  they,  too,  took  up 
the  chase,  a  long  line  of  indistinct  running  figures. 

There  were  other  women  on  the  street  now,  most 
of  them  Mexicans,  so  that  Margaret  attracted  little 


A    TEXAS  RANGER 95 

attention.  She  moved  up  opposite  the  house  that 
had  become  the  scene  of  action,  expecting  every 
moment  to  hear  the  shots  that  would  determine  the 
fate  of  the  victims. 

But  no  shots  came.  Lights  flashed  from  room  to 
room,  and  presently  one  light  began  to  fill  a  room 
so  brilliantly  that  she  knew  a  lamp  must  have  been 
overturned  and  set  the  house  on  fire.  Dunke  burst 
from  the  front  door,  scarce  a  dozen  paces  from  her. 
There  was  a  kind  of  lurid  fury  in  his  eyes.  He  was 
as  ravenously  fierce  as  a  wolf  balked  of  its  kill. 
She  chose  that  moment  to  call  him. 

"Mr.  Dunke!" 

Her  voice  struck  him  into  a  sort  of  listening  alert- 
ness, and  again  she  pronounced  his  name. 

"You,  Miss  Kinney — here?"  he  asked  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"Yes— Miss  Kinney." 

"But What  are  you  doing  here?  I  thought 

you  were  at  Fort  Lincoln." 

"I  was,  but  I'm  here  now." 

"Why  ?  This  is  no  place  for  you  to-night.  Hell's 
broke  loose." 

"So  it  seems,"  she  answered,  with  shining  eyes. 

"There's  trouble  afoot,  Miss  Margaret.  No 
girl  should  be  out,  let  alone  an  unprotected 
one." 

"I  did  not  come  here  unprotected.  There  was  a 
mam  with  me.  The  one,  Mr.  Dunke,  that  you  are 
now  looking  for  to  murder !" 


96  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

She  gave  it  to  him  straight  from  the  shoulder, 
her  eyes  holding  his  steadily. 

"Struve?"  he  gasped,  taken  completely  aback. 

"No,  not  Struve.  The  man  who  stood  beside 
Lieutenant  Fraser,  the  one  you  threatened  to  kill 
because  he  backed  the  law." 

"I  guess  you  don't  know  all  the  facts,  Miss  Kin- 
ney."  He  came  close  and  met  her  gaze  while  he 
spoke  in  a  low  voice.  "There  ain't  many  know 
what  I  know.  Mebbe  there  ain't  any  beside  you 
now.  But  /  know  you're  Jim  Kinney's  sister." 

"You  are  welcome  to  the  knowledge.  It  is  no 
secret.  Lieutenant  Fraser  knows  it.  So  does  his 
friend.  I'm  not  trying  to  hide  it.  What  of  it  ?" 

Her  quiet  scorn  drew  the  blood  to  his  face. 

"That's  all  right.  If  you  do  want  to  keep  it  quiet 
I'm  with  you.  But  there's  something  more.  Your 
brother  escaped  from  Yuma  with  this  fellow  Struve. 
Word  came  over  the  wire  an  hour  or  two  ago  that 
Struve  had  been  captured  and  that  it  was  certain  he 
had  killed  his  pal,  your  brother.  That's  why  I 
mean  to  see  him  hanged  before  mo'ning." 

"He  did  kill  my  brother.  He  told  me  so  him- 
self." Her  voice  carried  a  sob  for  an  instant,  but 
she  went  on  resolutely.  "What  has  that  to  do  with 
it  ?  Isn't  there  any  law  in  Texas  ?  Hasn't  he  been 
captured?  And  isn't  he  being  taken  back  to  his 
punishment  ?" 

"He  told  you  so  himself!"  the  man  echoed. 
"When  did  he  tell  you?  When  did  you  see  him?" 


A   TEXAS  RANGER 97 

"I  was  alone  with  him  for  twelve  hours  in  the 
desert." 

"Alone  with  you?"  His  puzzled  face  showed 
how  he  was  trying  to  take  this  in.  "I  don't  under- 
stand. How  could  he"  be  alone  with  you?" 

"I  thought  he  was  my  brother  and  I  was  helping 
him  to  escape  from  Fort  Lincoln." 

"Helping  him  to  escape!  Helping  Wolf  Struvf 
to  escape !  Well,  I'm  darned  if  that  don't  beat  my 
time.  How  come  you  to  think  him  your  brother?" 
the  man  asked  suspiciously. 

"It  doesn't  matter  how  or  why.  I  thought  so. 
That's  enough." 

"And  you  were  alone  with  him — why,  you  must 
have  been  alone  with  him  all  night,"  cried  Dunke, 
coming  to  a  fresh  discovery. 

"I  was,"  she  admitted  very  quietly. 

A  new  suspicion  edged  itself  into  his  mind. 
"What  did  you  talk  about?  Did  he  say  anything 

about Did  he He  always  was  a  terrible 

liar.  Nobody  ever  believed  Wolf  Struve." 

Without  understanding  the  reason  for  it,  she 
could  see  that  he  was  uneasy,  that  he  was  trying  to 
.discount  the  value  of  anything  the  convict  might 
.  have  told  her.  Yet  what  could  Strtrve  the  convictf 
No.  9,432,  have  to  do  with  the  millionaire  mine- 
owner,  Thomas  J.  Dunke  ?  What  could  there  be  in 
common  between  them?  Why  should  the  latter 
fear  what  the  other  had  to  tell?  The  thing  was 
preposterous  on  the  face  of  it,  but  the  girl  knew  by 


to8 A   TEXAS  RANGER 

some  woman's  instinct  that  she  was  on  the  edge  of 
a  secret  Dunke  held  hidden  deep  in  his  heart  from 
all  the  world.  Only  this  much  she  guessed;  that 
Struve  was  a  sharer  of  his  secret,  and  therefore  he 
was  set  on  lynching  the  man  before  he  had  time 
to  tell  it. 

"They  got  away,  didn't  they?"  she  asked. 

"They  got  away — for  the  present,"  he  answered 
grimly.  "But  we're  still  hunting  them." 

"Can't  you  let  the  law  take  its  course,  Mr. 
Dunke?  Is  it  necessary  to  do  this  terrible  thing?" 

"Don't  you  worry  any  about  it,  Miss  Kinney. 
This  ain't  a  woman's  job.  I'll  attend  to  it." 

"But  my  friends,"  she  reminded  him. 

"We  ain't  intending  to  hurt  them  any.  Come, 
I'll  see  you  home.  You  staying  at  the  hotel?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  haven't  made  any  arrange- 
ments yet." 

"Well,  we'll  go  make  them  now." 

But  she  did  not  move.  "I'm  not  going  in  till  I 
know  how  this  comes  out." 

He  was  a  man  used  to  having  his  own  brutal 
way,  one  strong  by  nature,  with  strength  increased 
by  the  money  upon  whioh  he  rode  rough-shod  to 
success. 

He  laughed  as  he  caught  hold  of  the  rein.  "That's 
ridiculous !" 

"But  my  business,  I  think,"  the  girl  answered 
sharply,  jerking  the  bridle  from  his  fingers. 

Dunke  stared  at  her.     It  was  his  night  of  suiv 


A    TEXAS  RANGER 99 

prises.  He  failed  to  recognize  the  conventional 
teacher  he  knew  in  this  bright-eyed,  full-throated 
young  woman  who  fronted  him  so  sure  of  herself. 
She  seemed  to  him  to  swim  brilliantly  in  a  tide  of 
flushed  beauty,  in  spite"  of  the  dust  and"  the  stains  of 
travel.  She  was  in  a  shapeless  khaki  riding-suit  and 
a  plain,  gray,  broad-brimmed  Stetson.  But  the  one 
could  not  hide  the  flexible  curves  that  made  so 
frankly  for  grace,  nor  the  other  the  coppery  tendrils 
that  escaped  in  fascinating  disorder  from  under  its 
brim. 

"You  hadn't  ought  to  be  out  here.    It  ain't  right." 
"I  don't  remember  asking  you  to  act  as  a  stand- 
ard of  right  and  wrong  for  me." 

He  laughed  awkwardly.     "We  ain't  quarreling, 
are  we,  Miss  Margaret?" 

"Certainly  I  am  not.     I  don't  quarrel  with  any- 
body but  my  friends." 

"Well,  I  didn't  aim  to  offend  you  anyway.    You 
know  me  better  than  that."     He  let  his  voice  fall 
into  a  caressing  modulation  and  put  a  propitiatory 
hand  on  her  skirt,  but  under  the  uncompromising" 
hardness  of  her  gaze  the  hand  fell  away  to  his  side. 
"I'm  your  friend — leastways  I  want  to  be." 
"My  friends  don't  lynch  men." 
"But  after  what  he  did  to  your  brother." 
"The  law  will  take  care  of  that.    If  you  want  to 
please  me  call  off  your  men  before  it  is  too  late/' 

It  was  his  cue  to  please  her,  for  so  far  as  it  was 
in  him  the  man  loved  her.    He  had  set  his  strong 


IPO  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

will  to  trample  on  his  past,  to  rise  to  a  place  where 
no  man  could  shake  his  security  with  proof  of  his 
former  misdeeds.  He  mean/  to  marry  her  and  to 
place  her  out  of  reach  of  those  evil  days  of  his. 
Only  Struve  was  left  of  the  old  gang,  and  he  knew 
the  Wolf  well  enough  to  be  sure  that  the  fellow 
would  delight  in  blackmailing  him.  The  convict's 
mouth  must  be  closed.  But  just  now  -he  must 
promise  what  she  wanted,  and  he  did. 

The  promise  was  still  on  his  lips  when  a  third 
person  strode  into  their  conversation. 

"Sorry  I  had  to  leave  you  so  hastily,  Miss  Kin- 
ney.  I'm  ready  to  take  you  to  the  hotel  now  if  it 
suits  you." 

Both  of  them  turned  quickly,  to  see  the  man  from 
the  Panhandle  sauntering  forth  from  the  darkness. 
There  was  a  slight  smile  on  his  face,  which  did  not 
abate  when  he  nodded  to  Dunke  amiably. 

"You?"  exclaimed  the  mine-owner  angrily. 

"Why,  yes — me.  Hope  we  didn't  inconvenience 
you,  seh,  by  postponing  the  coyote's  journey  to 
Kingdom  Come.  My  friend  had  to  take  a  hand 
because  he  is  a  ranger,  and  I  sat  in  to  oblige  him. 
No  hard  feelings,  I  hope." 

"Did  you Are  you  all  safe?"  Margaret 

asked 

"Yes,  rlia'am.    Got  away  slick  and  clean." 

"Whert?"  barked  Dunke. 

"Where  what,  my  friend?" 

"Where  did  you  take  him?" 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  10* 

•  ~ *-!  '    V'  •"' 

Larry  laughed  in  slow  deep  enjoyment.  "I  hate 
to  disappoint  you,  but  if  I  told  that  would  be  telling. 
No,  I  reckon  I  won't  table  my  cards  yet  a  while.  I* 
you're  playing  in  this  game  of  Hi-Spy  go  to  it  and 
hunt." 

"Perhaps  you  don't  know  that  I  am  T.  J, 
Dunke." 

"You  don't  say !  And  I'm  General  Grant.  This 
lady  hyer  is  Florence  Nightingale  or  Martha  Wash- 
ington, I  disremember  which." 

Miss  Kinney  laughed.  "Whichever  she  is  she's 
very  very  tired,"  she  said.  "I  think  I'll  accept  your 
offer  to  see  me  to  the  hotel,  Mr.  Neill." 

She  nodded  a  careless  good  night  to  the  mine- 
owner,  and  touched  the  horse  with  her  heeL  At 
the  porch  of  the  rather  primitive  hotel  she  descended 
stiffly  from  the  saddle. 

Before  she  left  the  Southerner — or  the  West- 
erner, for  sometimes  she  classified  him  as  one,  some- 
times as  the  other — she  asked  him  one  hesitant 
question. 

"Were  you  thinking  of  going  out  again  to- 
night?" 

"I  did  think  of  taking  a  turn  out  to  see  if  I  could 
find  Fraser.  Anything  I  can  do  for  you?" 

"Yes.  Please  don't  go.  I  don't  want  to  have  to 
worry  about  you.  I  have  had  enough  trouble  for 
the  present." 

"Would  you  worry  about  me  ?"  he  asked  quietly, 
his  eyes  steadily  on  her. 


102  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

"I  lie  awake  about  the  most  unaccountable  things 
sometimes." 

He  smiled  in  his  slow  Southern  fashion.  "Very 
well.  I'll  stay  indoors.  I  reckon  Steve  ain't  lost, 
anyhow.  You're  too  tired  to  have  to  lie  awake 
about  me  to-night.  There's  going  to  be  lots  of 
other  nights  for  you  to  think  of  me." 

She  glanced  at  him  with  a  quick  curiosity. 
"Well,  of  all  the  conceit  I  ever  heard!" 

"I'm  the  limit,  ain't  I?"  he  grinned  as  he  took 
himself  off. 


CHAPTER  IX 


DOWN    THE  JACKRABBIT   SHAFT. 

Next  morning  Larry  got  up  so  late  that  he  had  to 
order  a  special  breakfast  for  himself,  the  dining- 
room  being  closed.  He  found  one  guest  there, 
however,  just  beginning  her  oatmeal,  and  he  invited 
himself  to  eat  at  her  table. 

"Good  mawnin',  Miss  Kinney.  You  don't  look 
like  you  had  been  lying  awake  worrying  about  me," 
he  began  by  way  of  opening  the  conversation. 

Nor  did  she.  Youth  recuperates  quickly,  and 
after  a  night's  sound  sleep  she  was  glowing  with 
health  and  sweet  vitality.  He  could  see  a  flush  beat 
into  the  fresh  softness  of  her  flesh,  but  she  lifted  her 
dark  lashes  promptly  to  meet  him,  and  came  to  the 
sex  duel  gaily. 

"I  suppose  you  think  I  had  to  take  a  sleeping- 
powder  to  keep  me  from  it?"  she  flashed  back. 

"Oh,  well,  a  person  can  dream/'  he  suggested. 

"How  did  you  know  ?    But  you  are  right    I  did  ' 
dream  of  you." 

To  the  waiter  he  gave  his  order  before  answering 
her.  "Some  oatmeal  and  bacon  and  eggs.  Yes, 
coffee.  And  some  hot  cakes,  Charlie.  Did  you 

103 


104  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

honest  dream  about  me?"  This  last  not  to  the 
Chinese  waiter  who  had  padded  soft-footed  to  the 
kitchen. 

"Yes." 

She  smiled  shyly  at  him  with  sweet  innocence,  and 
he  drew  his  chair  a  trifle  closer. 

"Tell  me." 

"I  don't  like  to." 

"But  you  must.    Go  on." 

"Well,"  very  reluctantly.  "I  dreamed  I  was 
visiting  the  penitentiary  and  you  were  there  in 
stripes.  You  were  in  for  stealing  a  sheep,  I  think. 
Yes,  that  was  it,  for  stealing  a  sheep." 

"Couldn't  you  make  it  something  more  classy 
if  you're  bound  to  have  me  in  ?"  he  begged,  enjoy- 
ing immensely  the  rise  she  was  taking  out  of  him. 

"I  have  to  tell  it  the  way  it  was,"  she  insisted,  her 
eyes  bubbling  with  fun.  "And  it  seems  you  were 
the  prison  cook.  First  thing  I  knew  you  were  stand- 
ing in  front  of  a  wall  and  two  hundred  of  the  pris- 
oners were  shooting  at  you.  They  were  using 
your  biscuits  as  bullets." 

"That  was  a  terrible  revenge  to  take  on  me  for 
baking  them." 

"It  seems  you  had  your  sheep  with  you — the  one 
you  stole,  and  you  and  it  were  being  pelted-  all  over." 

"Did  you  see  a  lady  hold-up  among  those  shoot- 
ing at  me  ?"  he  inquired  anxiously. 

She  shook  her  head.    "And  just  when  the  bis- 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  105 

cuits  were  flying  thickest  the  wall  opened  and  Mr. 
Fraser  appeared.  He  caught  you  and  the  sheep  by 
the  back  of  your  necks,  and  flung  you  in.  Then  the 
wall  closed,  and  I  awoke." 

"That's  about  as  near  the  facts  as  dreams  usually 
get." 

He  was  very  much  pleased,  for  it  would  have 
been  a  great  disappointment  to  him  if  she  had  ad- 
mitted dreaming  about  him  for  any  reason  except 
to  make  fun  of  him.  The  thing  about  her  that 
touched  his  imagination  most  was  something  wild 
and  untamed,  some  quality  of  silken  strength  in  her 
slim  supple  youth  that  scoffed  at  all  men  and  knew 
none  as  master.  He  meant  to  wrest  from  her  if  he 
could  an  interest  that  would  set  him  apart  in  her 
mind  from  all  others,  but  he  wanted  the  price  of  vic- 
tory to  cost  him  something.  Thus  the  value  of  it 
would  be  enhanced. 

"But  tell  me  about  your  escape — all  about  it  and 
what  became  of  Lieutenant  Fraser.  And  first  of 
all,  who  the  lady  was  that  opened  the  door  for  you/' 
she  demanded. 

"She  was  his  sister." 

"Oh !  His  sister."  Her  voice  was  colorless.  Sht 
observed  him  without  appearing  to  do  so.  "Very 
pretty,  I  thought  her.  Didn't  you  ?" 

"Right  nice  looking.  Had  a  sort  of  an  expression 
made  a  man  want  to  look  at  her  again." 

"Yes." 


io6  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

Innocently  unaware  that  he  was  being  pumped, 
he  contributed  more  information.  "And  that 
game." 

"She  was  splendid.  I  can  see  her  now  opening 
the  door  in  the  face  of  the  bullets." 

"Never  a  scream  out  of  her  either.    Just  as  cool.** 

"That  is  the  quality  men  admire  most,  isn't  it— 
courage  ?" 

"I  don't  reckon  that  would  come  first.  Course 
it  wouldn't  make  a  hit  with  a  man  to  have  a  woman 
puling  around  all  the  time." 

"My  kind,  you  mean." 

Though  she  was  smiling  at  him  with  her  lips,  it 
came  to  him  that  his  words  were  being  warped  to  a 
wrong  meaning. 

"No,  I  don't,"  he  retorted  bluntly. 

"As  I  remember  it,  I  was  bawling  every  chance 
I  got  yesterday  and  the  day  before,"  she  recalled, 
with  fine  contempt  of  herself. 

"Oh,  well !  You  had  reason  a-plenty.  And  some- 
times a  woman  cries  just  like  a  man  cusses.  It  don't 
mean  anything.  I  once  knew  a  woman  wet  her 
handkerchief  to  a  sop  crying  because  her  husband 
forgot  one  mo'ning  to  kiss  her  good-by.  She  quit 
irrigating  to  run  into  a  burning  house  after  a 
neighbor's  kids." 

"I  accept  your  apology  for  my  behavior  if  you'll 
promise  I  won't  do  it  again,"  she  laughed.  "But 
tell  me  more  about  Miss  Eraser.  Does  she  live 
here?" 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  107 

For  a  moment  he  was  puzzled.  "Miss  Fraser! 
Oh!  She  gave  up  that  name  several  years  ago. 
Mrs.  Collins  they  call  her.  And  say,  you  ought  to 
see  her  kiddies.  You'd  fall  in  love  with  them  sure." 

The  girl  covered'  her  mistake  promptly  with  a 
little  laugh.  It  would  never  do  for  him  to  know  she 
had  been  yielding  to  incipient  jealousy.  "Why 
can't  I  know  them  ?  I  want  to  meet  her  too." 

The  door  opened  and  a  curly  head  was  thrust 
in.  "Dining-room  closes  for  breakfast  at  nine.  My 
clock  says  it's  ten-thirty  now.  Pretty  near  work  to 
keep  eating  that  long,  ain't  it?  And  this  Sunday, 
too !  I'll  have  you  put  in  the  calaboose  for  break- 
ing the  Sabbath." 

"We're  only  bending  it,"  grinned  Neill.  "Good 
mo'ning,  Lieutenant.  How  is  Mrs.  Collins,  and  the 
pickaninnies  ?" 

"First  rate.  Waiting  in  the  parlor  to  be  intro- 
duced to  Miss  Kinney." 

"We're  through,"  announced  Margaret,  rising. 

"You  too,  Tennessee?  The  proprietor  will  be 
grateful." 

The  young  women  took  to  each  other  at  once. 
Margaret  was  very  fond  of  children,  and  the  little 
boy  won  her  heart  immediately.  Both  he  and  his 
baby  sister  were  well-trained,  healthy,  and  lovable 
little  folks,  and  they  adopted  "Aunt  Peggy"  en- 
thusiastically. 

Presently  the  ranger  proposed  to  Neill  an  ad- 
journment. f.  •••--  -  r, 


io8  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

"I  got  to  take  some  breakfast  down  the  Jackrab- 
bit  shaft  to  my  prisoner.  Wanter  take  a  stroll 
that  way?"  he  asked. 

"If  the  ladies  will  excuse  us." 

"Glad  to  get  rid  of  you/'  Miss  Kinney  assured 
him  promptly,  but  with  a  bright  smile  that  neutral- 
ized the  effect  of  her  sauciness.  "Mrs.  Collins  and 
I  want  to  have  a  talk." 

The  way  to  the  Jackrabbit  lay  up  a  gulch  behind 
the  town.  Up  one  incline  was  a  shaft-house  with  a 
great  gray  dump  at  the  foot  of  it.  This  they  left 
behind  them,  climbing  the  hill  till  they  came  to  the 
summit. 

The  ranger  pointed  to  another  shaft-house  and 
dump  on  the  next  hillside. 

"That's  the  Mai  Pais,  from  which  the  district  is 
named.  Dunke  owns  it  and  most  of  the  others 
round  here.  His  workings  and  ours  come  together 
in  several  places,  but  we  have  boarded  up  the  tun-* 
nels  at  those  points  and  locked  the  doors  we  put 
in.  Wonder  where  Brown  is?  I  told  him  to  meet 
me  here  to  let  us  down." 

At  this  moment  they  caught  sight  of  him  coming 
up  a  timbered  draw.  He  lowered  them  into  the 
shaft,  which  was  about  six  hundred  feet  deep.  From 
the  foot  of  the  shaft  went  a  tunnel  into  the  heart 
of  the  mountain.  Steve  led  the  way,  flashing  an 
electric  searchlight  as  he  went. 

"We  aren't  working  this  part  of  the  mine  any 
more,"  he  explained.  "It  connects  with  the  newer 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  109 

workings  by  a  tunnel.  We'll  go  back  that  way  to 
the  shaft" 

"You've  got  quite  a  safe  prison,"  commented  the 
other. 

"It's  commodious,  anyhow;  arid"  I  reckon  it's 
safe.  If  a  man  was  to  get  loose  he  couldn't  reach 
the  surface  without  taking  somebody  into  partner- 
ship with  him.  There  ain't  but  three  ways  to  day- 
light; one  by  the  shaft  we  came  down,  another  by 
way  of  our  shaft-house,  and  the  third  by  Dunke's, 
assuming  he  could  break  through  into  the  Mai 
Pais.  He'd  better  not  break  loose  and  go  to  wan- 
dering around.  There  are  seventeen  miles  of 
workings  down  here  in  the  Jackrabbit,  let  alone  the 
Mai  Pais.  He  might  easily  get  lost  and  starve  to 
death.  Here  he  is  at  the  end  of  this  tunnel." 

Steve  flashed  the  light  twice  before  he  could  be- 
lieve his  eyes.  There  was  no  sign  of  Struve  ex- 
cept the  handcuffs  depending  from  an  iron  chain 
connected  by  a  heavy  staple  with  the  granite  wall. 
Apparently  he  had  somehow  managed  to  slip  from 
the  gyves  by  working  at  them  constantly. 

The  officer  turned  to  his  friend  and  laughed.  "I 
reckon  I'm  holding  the  sack  this  time.  See.  There's 
blood  on  these  cuffs.  He  rasped  his  hands  some 
before  he  got  them  out." 

"Well,  you've  still  got  him  safe  down  here  some- 
where." 

"Yes,  I  have  or  Dunke  has.  The  trouble  is 
both  the  mines  are  shut  down  just  now.  He's  got 


no  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

about  forty  miles  of  tunnel  to  play  hide-and-go- 
seek  in.    He's  in  luck  if  he  doesn't  starve  to  death." 
"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?" 
"I'll  have  to  get  some  of  my  men  out  on  search- 
parties — just  tell  them  there's  a  man  lost  down 
here  without  telling  them  who.    I  reckon  we  better 
say  nothing  about  it  to  the  ladies.    You  know  how 
tender-hearted  they  are.     Nellie  wouldn't  sleep  a 
wink  to-night  for  worrying." 

"All  right.    We'd  better  get  to  it  at  once  then." 
Fraser  nodded.     "We'll  go  up  and  rustle  a  few 
of  the  boys  that  know  the  mine  well.    I  expect  be- 
fore we  find  him  Mr.  Wolf  Struve  will  be  a  lamb 
and  right  anxious  for  the  shepherd  to  arrive." 

All  day  the  search  proceeded  without  results,  and 
all  of  the  next  day.  The  evening  of  this  second  day 
found  Struve  still  not  accounted  for. 


CHAPTER  X 

IN  A  TUNNEL  OF  THE  MAL  PAIS 

Although  Miss  Kinney  had  assured  Neill  that  she 
was  glad  to  be  rid  of  him  it  occurred  to  her  more 
than  once  in  the  course  of  the  day  that  he  was  tak- 
ing her  a  little  too  literally.  On  Sunday  she  did 
not  see  a  glimpse  of  him  after  he  left.  At  lunch  he 
did  not  appear,  nor  was  he  in  evidence  at  dinner. 
Next  morning  she  learned  that  he  had  been  to 
breakfast  and  had  gone  before  she  got  down.  She 
withheld  judgment  till  lunch,  being  almost  certain 
that  he  would  be  on  hand  to  that  meal.  His  ab- 
sence roused  her  resentment  and  her  independence. 
If  he  didn't  care  to  see  her  she  certainly  did  not 
want  to  see  him.  She  was  not  going  to  sit  around 
and  wait  for  him  to  take  her  down  into  the  mine 
he  had  promised  she  should  see.  Let  him  forget 
his  appointment  if  he  liked.  He  would  wait  a  long 
time  before  she  made  any  more  engagements  with 
him. 

About  this  time  Dunke  began  to  flatter  himself 
that  he  had  made  an  impression.  Miss  Kinney  was 
all  smiles.  She  was  graciously  pleased  to  take  a 
horseback  ride  over  the  camp  with  him,  nor  did 

III 


ii2  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

he  know  that  her  roving  eye  was  constantly  on  the 
lookout  for  a  certain  spare,  clean-built  figure  she 
could  recognize  at  a  considerable  distance  by  the 
easy,  elastic  tread.  Monday  evening  the  mine- 
owner  called  upon  her  and  Mrs.  Collins,  whose 
brother  also  was  among  the  missing,  and  she  was 
delighted  to  accept  his  invitation  to  go  through  the 
Mai  Pais  workings  with  him. 

"That  is,  if  Mrs.  Collins  will  go,  too,"  she  added 
as  an  afterthought. 

That  young  woman  hesitated.  Though  this  man 
had  led  his  miners  against  her  brother,  she  was 
ready  to  believe  the  attack  not  caused  by  personal 
enmity.  The  best  of  feeling  did  not  exist  between 
the  owners  of  the  Jackrabbit  and  those  of  the  Mai 
Pais.  Dunke  was  suspected  of  boldly  crossing  into 
the  territory  of  his  neighbor  where  his  veins  did 
not  lead.  But  there  had  been  no  open  rupture.  For 
the  very  reason  that  an  undertow  of  feeling  existed 
Nellie  consented  to  join  the  party.  She  did  not 
want  by  a  refusal  to  put  into  words  a  hostility 
that  she  had  always  carefully  veiled.  She  was  in 
the  position  of  not  wanting  to  go  at  all,  yet  wanting 
still  less  to  decline  to  do  so. 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  go,"  she  said. 

"Fine.  We'll  start  about  nine,  or  nine-thirty  say. 
Fll  drive  up  in  a  surrey." 

"And  we'll  have  lunch  for  the  party  put  up  at 
the  hotel  here.  I'll  get  some  fruit  to  take  along," 
said  Margaret.  <  v  / 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  113 

"We'll  make  a  regular  picnic  of  it,"  added  Dunke 
heartily.  "You'll  enjoy  eating  out  of  a  dinner-pail 
for  once  just  like  one  of  my  miners,  Miss  Kinney." 

After  he  had  gone  Margaret  mentioned  to  Mrs. 
Collins  her  feeling  concerning  him.  "I  don't  really 
like  him.  Or  rather  I  don't  give  him  my  full  con- 
fidence. He  seems  pleasant  enough,  too/'  She 
laughed  a  little  as  she  added:  "You  know  he  does 
me  the  honor  to  admire  me." 

"Yes,  I  know  that.  I  was  wondering  how  you 
felt  about  it." 

"How  ought  one  to  feel  about  one  of  the  great 
mining  kings  of  the  West?" 

"Has  that  anything  to  do  with  it,  my  dear?  I 
mean  his  being  a  mining  king?"  asked  Mrs.  Col- 
lins gently. 

Margaret  went  up  to  her  and  kissed  her.  "You're 
a  romantic  little  thing.  That's  because  you  prob- 
ably married  a  heaven-sent  man.  We  can't  all  be 
fortunate." 

"We  none  of  us  need  to  marry  where  we  don't 
Jove." 

"Goodness  me!  I'm  not  thinking  of  marrying 
Mr.  Dunke's  millions.  The  only  thing  is  that  I 
don't  have  a  Croesus  to  exhibit  every  day  at  my 
chariot  wheels.  It's  horrid  of  course,  but  I  have  a 
natural  feminine  reluctance  to  surrendering  him  all 
at  once.  I  don't  object  in  the  least  to  trampling 
on  him,  but  somehow  I  don't  feel  ready  for  his 
declaration  of  independence."  .  %  3 


ii4  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

"Oh,  if  that's  all!"  her  friend  smiled. 

"That's  quite  all." 

"Perhaps  you  prefer  Texans  who  come  from  the 
Panhandle." 

Mrs.  Collins  happened  to  be  looking  straight  at 
her  out  of  her  big  brown  eyes.  Wherefore  she 
could  not  help  observing  the  pink  glow  that  deep- 
ened in  the  soft  cheeks. 

"He  hasn't  preferred  me  much  lately." 

Nellie  knitted  her  brow  in  perplexity.  "I  don't 
understand.  Steve's  been  away,  too,  nearly  all  the 
time.  Something  is  going  on  that  we  don't  know 
about." 

"Not  that  I  care.  Mr.  Neill  is  welcome  to  stay 
away." 

Her  new  friend  shot  a  swift  slant  look  at  her. 
"I  don't  suppose  you  trample  on  him  much." 

Margaret  flushed.  "No,  I  don't.  It's  the  other 
way.  I  never  saw  anybody  so  rude.  He  does  not 
seem  to  have  any  saving  sense  of  the  proper  thing." 

"He's  a  man,  dearie,  and  a  good  one.  He  may 
be  untrammeled  by  convention,  but  he  is  clean  and 
brave.  He  has  eyes  that  look  through  cowardice 
and  treachery,  fine  strong  eyes  that  are  honest  and 
unafraid." 

"Dear  me,  you  must  have  studied  them  a  good 
deal  to  see  all  that  in  them,"  said  Miss  Peggy  lightly, 
yet  pleased  withal. 

"My  dear,"  reproached  her  friend,  so  seriously 
that  Peggy  repented. 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  115 

"I  didn't  really  mean  it,"  she  laughed.  "I've 
heard  already  on  good  authority  that  you  see  no 
man's  eyes  except  the  handsome  ones  in  the  face 
of  Mr.  Tim  Collins." 

"I  do  think  Tim  has  fine  eyes,"  blushed  the 
accused. 

"No  doubt  of  it.  Since  you  have  been  admiring 
my  young  man  I  must  praise  yours,"  teased  Miss 
Kinney. 

"Am  I  to  wish  you  joy?  I  didn't  know  he  was 
your  young  man,"  flashed  back  the  other. 

"I  understand  that  you  have  been  trying  to  put 
him  off  on  me." 

"You'll  find  he  does  not  need  any  'putting  off* 
on  anybody." 

"At  least,  he  has  a  good  friend  in  you.  I  think 
I'll  tell  him,  so  that  when  he  does  condescend  to 
become  interested  in  a  young  woman  he  may  refer 
her  to  you  for  a  recommendation." 

The  young  wife  borrowed  for  the  occasion  some 
-  of  Miss  Peggy's  audacity.  "I'm  recommending 
him  to  that  young  woman  now,  my  dear,"  she  made 
answer. 

Dunke's  party  left  for  the  mine  on  schedule  time. 
Water-proof  coats  and  high  lace-boots  had  been 
borrowed  for  the  ladies  as  a  protection  against  the 
moisture  they  were  sure  to  meet  in  the  tunnels  one 
thousand  feet  below  the  ground.  The  mine-owner 
had  had  the  hoisting-engine  started  for  the  oc- 
casion, and  the  cage  took  them  down  as  swiftly 


n5  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

and  as  smoothly  as  a  metropolitan  elevator.  Never- 
theless Margaret  clung  tightly  to  her  friend,  for  it 
was  her  first  experience  of  the  kind.  She  had  never 
before  dropped  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  straight 
down  into  the  heart  of  the  earth  and  she  felt  a 
smothered  sensation,  a  sense  of  danger  induced  by 
her  unaccustomed  surroundings.  It  is  the  unknown 
that  awes,  and  when  she  first  stepped  from  the  cage 
and  peered  down  the  long,  low  tunnel  through 
which  a  tramway  ran  she  caught  her  breath  rather 
quickly.  She  had  an  active  imagination,  and  she 
conjured  cave-ins,  explosions,  and  all  the  other 
mine  horrors  she  had  read  about. 

Their  host  had  spared  no  expense  to  make  the 
Occasion  a  gala  one.  Electric  lights  were  twinkling 
at  intervals  down  the  tunnel,  and  an  electric  ore- 
car  with  a  man  in  charge  was  waiting  to  run  them 
into  the  workings  nearly  a  mile  distant.  Dunke 
dealt  out  candles  and  assisted  his  guests  into  the 
car,  which  presently  carried  them  deep  into  the 
mine.  Margaret  observed  that  the  timbered  sides 
of  the  tunnel  leaned  inward  slightly  and  that  the 
roof  was  heavily  cross-timbered. 

"It  looks  safe,"  she  thought  aloud. 

"It's  safe  enough,"  returned  Dunke  carelessly. 
"The  place  $or  cave-ins  is  at  the  head  of  the  work- 
ings, before  we  get  drifts  timbered." 

"Are  we  going  into  any  of  those  places?" 

"I  wouldn't  take  you  into  any  place  that  wasn't 
,  Miss  Margaret." 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  117 

"Is  it  always  so  dreadfully  warm  down  here?" 
she  asked. 

"You  must  remember  we're  somewhere  around 
a  thousand  feet  in  the  heart  of  the  earth.  Yes,  it's 
always  warm." 

"I  don't  see  how  the  men  stand  it  and  work." 

"Oh,  they  get  used  to  it." 

They  left  the  car  and  followed  a  drift  which  took 
them  into  a  region  of  perpetual  darkness,  into 
which  the  electric  lights  did  not  penetrate.  Mar- 
garet noticed  that  her  host  carried  his  candle  with 
ease,  holding  it  at  an  angle  that  gave  the  best  light 
and  most  resistance  to  the  air,  while  she  on  her  part 
had  much  ado  to  keep  hers  from  going  out.  Fre- 
quently she  had  to  stop  and  let  the  tiny  flame  re- 
new its  hold  on  the  base  of  supplies.  So,  without 
his  knowing  it,  she  fell  behind  gradually,  and  his 
explanations  of  stopes,  drifts,  air-drills,  and  pay- 
streaks  fell  only  upon  the  already  enlightened  ears 
of  Mrs.  Collins. 

The  girl  had  been  picking  her  way  through  some 
puddles  of  water  that  had  settled  on  the  floor,  and 
when  she  looked  up  the  lights  of  those  ahead  had 
disappeared.  She  called  to  them  faintly  and  hur- 
ried on,  appalled  at  the  thought  of  possibly  losing 
them  in  these  dreadful  underground  catacombs 
where  Stygian  night  forever  reigned.  But  her  very 
hurry  delayed  her,  for  in  her  haste  the  gust  of  her 
motion  swept  out  the  flame.  She  felt  her  way 
forward  along  the  wall,  in  a  darkness  such  as  she 


n8  A   TEXAS  RANGER ^ 

had  never  conceived  before.  Nor  could  she  know 
that  by  chance  she  was  following  the  wrong  wall. 
Had  she  chosen  the  other  her  hand  must  have  come 
to  a  break  in  it  which  showed  that  a  passage  at 
that  point  deflected  from  the  drift  toward  the  left. 
Unconsciously  she  passed  this,  already  frightened 
but  resolutely  repressing  her  fear. 

"I'D  not  let  them  know  what  an  idiot  I  am.  I'll 
not!  I'll  not!"  she  told  herself. 

Therefore  she  did  not  call  yet,  thinking  she  must 
come  on  them  at  any  moment,  unaware  that  every 
step  was  taking  her  farther  from  the  gallery  into 
which  they  had  turned.  When  at  last  she  cried 
^out  it  was  too  late.  The  walls  hemmed  in  her  cry 
and  flung  it  back  tauntingly  to  her — the  damp 
walls  against  which  she  crouched  in  terror  of  the 
subterranean  vault  in  which  she  was  buried.  She 
was  alone  with  the  powers  of  darkness,  with  the 
imprisoned  spirits  of  the  underworld  that  fought 
inarticulately  against  the  audacity  of  the  puny 
humans  who  dared  venture  here.  So  her  vivid  im- 
agination conceived  it,  terrorizing  her  against  both 
will  and  reason. 

How  long  she  wandered,  a  prey  to  terror,  calling 
helplessly  in  the  blackness,  she  did  not  know.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  she  must  always  wander  so,  a 
perpetual  prisoner  condemned  to  this  living  grave. 
So  that  it  was  with  a  distinct  shock  of  glad  surprise 
she  heard  a  voice  answer  faintly  her  calls.  Calling 
and  listening  alternately,  she  groped  her  way  in  the 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  119 

direction  of  the  sounds,  and  so  at  last  came  plump 
against  the  figure  of  the  approaching  rescuer. 

"Who  is  it?"  a- hoarse  voice  demanded. 

But  before  she  could  answer  a  match  flared  and 
was  held  close  to  her  face.  The  same  light  that 
revealed  her  to  him  told  the  girl  who  this  man  was 
that  had  met  her  alone  a  million  miles  from  human 
aid.  The  haggard,  drawn  countenance  with  the 
lifted  upper  lip  and  the  sunken  eyes  that  glared  into 
hers  belonged  to  the  convict  Nick  Struve. 

The  match  went  out  before  either  of  them  spoke. 

"You — you  here!"  she  exclaimed,  and  was  oddly 
conscious  that  her  relief  at  meeting  even  him  had 
wiped  out  for  the  present  her  fear  of  the  man. 

"For  God's  sake,  have  you  got  anything  to  eat?" 
he  breathed  thickly. 

It  had  been  part  of  the  play  that  each  member 
of  their  little  party  should  carry  a  dinner-pail  just 
like  an  ordinary  miner.  Wherefore  she  had  hers 
still  in  her  hand. 

"Yes,  and  I  have  a  candle  here.  Have  you  an- 
other match  ?" 

He  lit  the  candle  with  a  shaking  hand. 

"Gimme  that  bucket,"   he  ordered  gruffly,  and 
began  to  devour  ravenously  the  food  he  found  iiv* 
it,  tearing  at  sandwiches  and  gulping  them  down 
like  a  hungry  dog. 

"What  day  is  this?"  he  stopped  to  ask  after  he 
had  stayed  the  first  pangs. 

She  told  him  Tuesday. 


120  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

"I  ain't  eaten  since  Saturday,"  he  told  her.  "I 
figured  it  was  a  week.  There  ain't  any  days  in  this 
place — nothin'  but  night.  Can't  tell  one  from  an- 
other." 

"It's  terrible,"  she  agreed. 

His  appetite  was  wolfish.  She  could  see  that  he 
was  spent,  so  weak  with  hunger  that  he  had  reeled 
against  the  wall  as  she  handed  him  the  dinner-pail. 
Pallor  was  on  the  sunken  face,  and  exhaustion  in 
the  trembling  hands  and  unsteady  gait. 

"I'm  about  all  in,  what  with  hunger  and  all  I 
been  through.  I  thought  I  was  out  of  my  head 
when  I  heard  you  holler."  He  snatched  up  the 
candle  from  the  place  where  he  had  set  it  and 
searched  her  face  by  its  flame.  "How  come  you 
down  here?  You  didn't  come  alone.  What  you 
doin'  here?"  he  demanded  suspiciously. 

"I  came  down  with  Mr.  Dunke  and  a  friend  to 
look  over  his  mine.  I  had  never  been  in  one  be- 
fore." 

"Dunke!"  A  spasm  of  rage  swept  the  man's 
face.  "You're  a  friend  of  his,  are  you?  Where  is 
he?  If  you  came  with  him  how  come  you  to  be 
roaming  around  alone?" 

"I  got  lost.    Then  my  light  went  out." 

"So  you're  a  friend  of  Dunke,  that  damned 
double-crosier!  He's  a  millionaire,  you  think,  a 
big  man  in  this  Western  country.  That's  what  he 
claims,  eh?"  Struve  shook  a  fist  into  the  air  in  a 


• A   TEXAS  RANGER  121 

mad  burst  of  passion.  "Just  watch  me  blow  him 
higher'n  a  kite.  I  know  what  he  is,  and  I  got  proof. 
1  The  Judas !  I  keep  my  mug  shut  .and  do  time  while 
he  gets  off  scot-free  and  makes  his  pile.  But  you 
listen  to  me,  ma'am.  Your  friend  ain't  nothin'  but 
an  outlaw.  If  he  got  his  like  I  got  mine  he'd  be 
at  Yuma  to-day.  Your  brother  could  a-told  you. 
Dunke  was  at  the  head  of  the  gang  that  heir1,  up 
that  train.  We  got  nabbed,  me  and  Jim.  Burch 
got  shot  in  the  Catalinas  by  one  of  the  rangers,  and 
Smith  died  of  fever  in  Sonora.  But  Dunke,  curse 
him,  he  sneaks  out  and  buys  the  officers  off  with 
our  plunder.  That's  what  he  done — let  his  partners 
get  railroaded  through  while  he  sails  out  slick  and 
easy.  But  he  made  one  mistake,  Mr.  Dunke  did. 
He  wrote  me  a  letter  and  told  me  to  keep  mum 
and  he  would  fix  it  for  me  to  get  out  in  a  few 
months.  I  believed  him,  kept  my  mouth  padlocked, 
and  served  seven  years  without  him  lifting  a  hand 
for  me.  Then,  when  I  make  my  getaway  he  tries 
first  off  to  shut  my  mouth  by  putting  me  out  of 
business.  That's  what  your  friend  done,  ma'am." 

"Is  this  true  ?"  asked  the  girl  whitely. 

"So  help  me  God,  every  word  of  it." 

"He  let  my  brother  go  to  prison  without  trying 
to  help  him?" 

"Worse  than  that.  He  sent  him  to  prison.  Jim 
was  all  right  when  he  first  met  up  with  Dunke.  It 
was  Dunke  that  got  him  into  his  wild  ways  and  led 


122  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

him  into  trouble.  It  was  Dunke  took  him  into  the 
hold-up  business.  Hadn't  been  for  him  Jim  never 
would  have  gone  wrong." 

She  made  no  answer.  Her  mind  was  busy  piecing 
out  the  facts  of  her  brother's  misspent  life*  As  a 
little  girl  she  remembered  her  big  brother  before 
he  went  away,  good-natured,  friendly,  always  ready 
to  play  with  her.  She  was  sure  he  had  not  been 
bad,  only  fatally  weak.  Even  this  man  who  had 
slain  him  was  ready  to  testify  to  that. 

She  came  back  from  her  absorption  to  find  Struve 
outlining  what  he  meant  to  do. 

"We'll  go  back  this  passage  along  the  way  you 
came.  I  want  to  find  Mr.  Dunke.  I  allow  I've  got 
something  to  tell  him  he  will  be  right  interested  in 
hearing." 

He  picked  up  the  candle  and  led  the  way  along 
the  tunnel.  Margaret  followed  him  in  silence. 


. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  SOUTHERNER  TAKES  A  RISK 

The  convict  shambled  forward  through  the  tun- 
nel till  he  came  to  a  drift  which  ran  into  it  at  a 
right  angle. 

"Which  way  now  ?"  he  demanded. 

"I  don't  know." 

"Don't  know,"  he  screamed.  "Didn't  you  just 
come  along  here?  Do  you  want  me  to  get  lost 
again  in  this  hell-hole?" 

The  stricken  fear  leaped  into  his  face.  He  had 
forgotten  her  danger,  forgotten  everything  but  the 
craven  terror  that  engulfed  him.  Looking  at  him, 
she  was  struck  for  the  first  time  with  the  thought 
that  he  might  be  on  the  verge  of  madness. 

His  cry  still  rang  through  the  tunnel  when  Mar- 
garet saw  a  gleam  of  distant  light.  She  pointed  it 
out  to  Struve,  who  wheeled  and  fastened  his  eyes 
upon  it.  Slowly  the  faint  yellow  candle-rays  wav- 
ered toward  them.  A  man  was  approaching  through 
the  gloom,  a  large  man  whom  she  presently  recog- 
nized as  Dunke.  A  quick  gasp  from  the  one  beside 
her  showed  that  he  too  knew  the  man.  He  took 

123 


124  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

a  dozen  running  steps  forward,  so  that  in  his  haste 
the  candle  flickered  out. 

"That  you,  Miss  Margaret?"  the  mine-owner 
called. 

Neither  she  nor  Struve  answered.  The  latter 
had  stopped  and  was  waiting  tensely  his  enemy's 
approach.  When  he  was  within  a  few  yards  of  the 
other  Dunke  raised  his  candle  and  peered  into  the 
blackness  ahead  of  him. 

"What's  the  matter?    Isn't  it  you,  Miss  Peggy?" 

"No,  it  ain't.  It's  your  old  pal,  Nick  Struve. 
Ain't  you  glad  to  see  him,  Joe  ?" 

Dunke  looked  him  over  without  a  word.  His 
thin  lips  set  and  his  gaze  grew  wall-eyed.  The 
candle  passed  from  right  to  left  hand. 

Struve  laughed  evilly.  "No,  I'm  not  going  to 
pay  you  that  way — not  yet;  nor  you  ain't  going 
to  rid  yourself  of  me  either.  Want  to  know  why, 
Mr.  Millionaire  Dunke.  what  used  to  be  my  old 
pal?  Want  to  know  why  it  ain't  going  to  do  you 
any  good  to  drop  that  right  hand  any  closeter  to 
your  hip  pocket?'* 

Still  Dunke  said  nothing,  but  the  candle-glow 
that  lit  his  face  showed  an  ugly  expression. 

"Don't  you  whip  that  gun  out,  Joe  Dunke.  Don't 
you !  'Cause  why  ?  If  you  do  you're  a  goner/' 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  I  kept  the  letter  you  wrote  me  seven 
years  ago,  and  have  put  it  where  it  will  do  you  no 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  125 

good  if  anything  happens  to  me.  That's  why  you 
won't  draw  that  gun,  Joe  Dunke.  If  you  do  it  will 
send  you  to  Yuma,  Millionaire  you  may  be,  but 
that  won't  keep  you  from  wearing  stripes." 

Struve's  voice  rang  exultantly.  From  the  look 
in  the  face  of  his  old  comrade  in  crime  who  had 
prospered  at  his  expense,  as  he  chose  to  think,  he 
saw  that  for  the  time  being  he  had  got  the  whip- 
hand. 

There  was  a  long  silence  before  Dunke  asked 
hoarsely : 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"I  want  you  to  hide  me.  I  want  you  to  get  me 
out  of  this  country.  I  want  you  to  divvy  up  with 
me.  Didn't  we  grub-stake  you  with  the  haul  from 
the  Overland  ?  Don't  we  go  share  and  share  alike, 
the  two  of  us  that's  left?  Ain't  that  fair  and 
square?  You  wouldn't  want  to  do  less  than  right 
by  an  old  pal,  cap,  you  that  are  so  respectable  and 
proper  now.  You  ain't  forgot  the  man  that  lay 
in  the  ditch  with  you  the  night  we  held  up  the 
flyer,  the  man  that  rode  beside  you  when  you 
shot " 

"For  God's  sake  don't  rake  up  forgotten  scrapes. 
We  were  all  young  together  then.  I'll  do  what's 
right  by  you,  but  you  got  to  keep  your  mouth  shut 
and  let  me  manage  this." 

"The  way  you  iranaged  it  before  when  you  let 
me  rot  at  Yuma  seven  years,"  jeered  Strove. 


126  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

"I  couldn't  help  it.  They  were  on  my  trail  and 
I  had  to  lie  low.  I  tell  you  I'll  pull  you  through  if 
you  do  as  I  say." 

"And  I  tell  you  I  don't  believe  a  word  you  say» 
You  double-crossed  me  before  and  you  will  again 
if  you  get  a  chance.  I'll  not  let  you  out  of  my 
sight." 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Nick.  How  can  I  help  you  if 
I  can't  move  around  to  make  the  arrangements  for 
running  you  across  the  line?" 

"And  what  guarantee  have  I  got  you  ain't  mak- 
ing arrangements  to  have  me  scragged  ?  Think  I'm 
forgetting  Saturday  night?" 

The  girl  in  the  blackness  without  the  candle- 
thine  moved  slightly. 

"What's  that?"  asked  Dunke,  startled. 

"What's  what?" 

"That  noise.     Some  one  moved." 

Dunke's  revolver  came  swiftly  from  his 
f*>cket. 

"I  reckon  it  must  a-been  the  girl." 

"What  girl?     Miss  Kinney?" 

Dunke's  hard  eyes  fastened  on  the  other  like  steel 
augers. 

Margaret  came  forward  and  took  wraithlike 
shape. 

"I  want  you  to  take  me  to  Mrs.  Collins,  Mr. 
Dunke,"  she  said. 

The  steel  probes  shifted  from  Struve  to  her. 
"What  did  you  hear,  Miss  Kinney?  This  man  is 


A    TEXAS  RANGER 


a  storehouse  of  lies.  I  let  him  run  on  to  see  how 
far  he  would  go." 

Struve's  harsh  laugh  rilled  the  tunnel. 

"Take  me  to  Mrs.  Collins,"  she  reiterated 
wearily. 

"Not  till  I  know  what  you  heard,"  answered 
Dunke  doggedly. 

"I  heard  everything,"  she  avowed  boldly.  "The 
whole  wretched,  miserable  truth." 

She  would  have  pushed  past  him,  but  he  caught 
her  arm. 

"Let  me  go!" 

"I  tell  you  it's  all  a  mistake.  I  can  explain  it. 
Give  me  time." 

"I  won't  listen.  I  want  never  to  see  either  of 
you  again.  What  have  I  ever  done  that  I  should 
be  mixed  up  with  such  men?"  she  cried,  with  bitter 
despair. 

"Don't  go  off  half-cocked.  'Course  I'll  take  you 
to  Mrs.  Collins  if  you  like.  But  you  got  to  listen 
to  what  I  say." 

Another  candle  glimmered  dimly  in  the  tunnel 
and  came  toward  them.  It  presently  stopped,  and 
a  voice  rolled  along  the  vault. 

"Hello,  there!" 

Margaret  would  have  known  that  voice  any- 
where among  a  thousand.  Now  it  came  to  her 
sweet  as  water  after  a  drought.  She  slipped  past 
Dunke  and  ran  stumbling  through  the  darkness  to 
its  source. 


128  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

"Mr.   Neill!     Mr.  Neill!" 

The  pitiful  note  in  her  voice,  which  he  recognized 
instantly,  stirred  him  to  the  core.  Astonished  that 
she  should  be  in  the  mine  and  in  trouble,  he  dashed 
forward,  and  his  candle  went  out  in  the  rush. 
Groping  in  the  darkness  her  hands  encountered  his,  < 
His  arms  closed  round  her,  and  in  her  need  oi 
protection  that  brushed  aside  conventions  and  non- 
essentials,  the  need  that  had  spoken  in  her  cry  of 
relief,  in  her  hurried  flight  to  him,  she  lay  panting 
and  trembling  in  his  arms.  He  held  her  tight,  as 
one  who  would  keep  his  own  against  the  world. 

"How  did  you  get  here — what  has  happened?" 
he  demanded. 

Hurriedly  she  explained. 

"Oh,  take  me  away,  take  me  away!"  she  con- 
cluded, nestling  to  him  with  no  thought  now  of 
seeking  to  disguise  her  helpless  dependence  upon 
him,  of  hiding  from  herself  the  realization  that 
he  was  the  man  into  whose  keeping  destiny  had 
ordained  that  she  was  to  give  her  heart. 

"All  right,  honey.  You're  sure  all  safe  now/' 
he  said  tenderly,  and  in  the  blackness  his  lips 
sought  and  met  hers  in  a  kiss  that  sealed  the  under- 
standing their  souls  had  reached. 

At  the  sound  of  Neill's  voice  Dunke  had  ex- 
tinguished the  candle  and  vanished  in  the  darkness 
with  Struve,  the  latter  holding  him  by  the  arm  in  a 
despairing  grip.  Neill  shouted  again  and  again,  as 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  129 

he  relighted  his  candle,  but  there  came  no  answer  to 
his  calls. 

"We  had  better  make  for  the  shaft,"  he  said. 

They  set  out  on  the  long  walk  to  the  opening 
that  led  up  to  the  light  and  the  pure  air.  For  a 
while  they  walked  on  in  silence.  At  last  he  took 
her  hand  and  guided  her  fingers  across  the  seam 
on  his  wrist. 

"It  don't  seem  only  four  days  since  you  did  that, 
honey,"  he  murmured. 

"Did  I  do  that?"  Her  voice  was  full  of  self- 
reproach,  and  before  he  could  stop  her  she  lifted 
his  hand  and  kissed  the  welt.  . 

"Don't,  sweet.  I  deserved  what  I  got  and  more. 
I'm  ready  with  that  apology  you  didn't  want  then, 
Peggy." 

"But  I  don't  want  it  now,  either.  I  won't  have 
it.  Didn't  I  tell  you  I  wouldn't?  Besides,"  she 
added,  with  a  little  leap  of  laughter  in  her  voice, 
"why  should  you  ask  pardon  for  kissing  the  girl 
you  were  meant  to — to " 

He  finished  it  for  her. 

"To  marry,  Peggy.  I  didn't  know  it  then,  but 
I  knew  it  before  you  said  good-by  with  your  whip." 

"And  I  didn't  know  it  till  next  morning,"  she 
said. 

"Did  you  know  it  then,  when  you  were  so  mean 
to  me?" 

"That  was  why  I  was  so  mean  to  you.    I  had 


I3Q  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

to  punish  myself  and  you  because  I — liked  you  so 
well." 

She  buried  her  face  shyly  in  his  coat  to  cover 
this  confession. 

It  seemed  easy  for  both  of  them  to  laugh  over 
nothing  in  the  exuberance  of  their  common  hap- 
piness. His  joy  pealed  now  delightedly. 

"I  can't  believe  it — that  four  days  ago  you 
wasn't  on  the  earth  for  me.  Seems  like  you  always 
belonged;  seems  like  I  always  enjoyed  your  sassy 
ways." 

"That's  just  the  way  I  feel  about  you.  It's 
really  scandalous  that  in  less  than  a  week — just  a 
little  more  than  half  a  week — we  should  be  en- 
gaged. We  are  engaged,  aren't  we?" 

"Very  much." 

"Well,  th^n — it  sounds  improper,  but  it  isn't  the 
least  bit.  It's  right.  Isn't  it?" 

"It  ce'tainly  is." 

"But  you  know  I've  always  thought  that  people 
who  got  engaged  so  soon  are  the  same  kind  of 
people  that  correspond  through  matrimonial  papers. 
I  didn't  suppose  it  would  ever  happen  to  me." 

"Some  right  strange  things  happen  while  a 
person  is  alive,  Peggy." 

"And  I  don't  really  know  anything  at  all  about 
you  except  that  you  say  your  name  is  Larry  Neill. 
Maybe  you  are  married  already." 

She  paused,  startled  at  the  impossible  thought 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  131 

"It  must  have  happened  before  I  can  remember, 
then,"  he  laughed. 

"Or  engaged.  Very  likely  you-  have  been  en- 
gaged a  dozen  times.  Southern  people  do,  they 
say." 

"Then  I'm  an  exception." 

5<And  me — you  don't  know  anything  about  me." 

"A  fellow  has  to  take  some  risk  or  quit  living/' 
he  told  her  gaily. 

"When  you  think  of  my  temper  doesn't  it  make 
you  afraid?" 

"The  samples  I've  had  were  surely  right  ex- 
hilarating," he  conceded.  "I'm  expecting  enough 
difference  of  opinion  to  keep  life  interesting." 

"Well,  then,  if  you  won't  be  warned  you'll  just 
have  to  take  me  and  risk  it." 

And  she  slipped  her  arm  into  his  and  held  up  her 
lips  for  the  kiss  awaiting  her. 


CHAPTER  XII 

EXIT   DUNKE 

Dunke  plowed  back  through  the  tunnel  in  a  blind 
whirl  of  passion.  Rage,  chagrin,  offended  vanity, 
acute  disappointment,  all  blended  with  a  dull  heart- 
ache to  which  he  was  a  stranger.  He  was  a 
dangerous  man  in  a  dangerous  mood,  and  so  Wolf 
Struve  was  likely  to  discover.  But  the  convict  was 
not  an  observant  man.  His  loose  upper  lip  lifted 
in  the  ugly  sneer  to  which  it  was  accustomed. 

"Got  onto  you,  didn't  she?" 

Dunke  stuck  his  candle  in  a  niche  of  the  ragged 
granite  wall,  strode  across  to  his  former  partner  in 
crime,  and  took  the  man  by  the  throat. 

"I'll  learn  you  to  keep  that  vile  tongue  of  yours 
still,"  he  said  between  set  teeth,  and  shook  the 
hapless  man  till  he  was  black  in  the  face. 

Struve  hung,  sputtering  and  coughing,  against 
the  wall  where  he  had  been  thrown.  It  was  long 
before  he  could  do  more  than  gasp. 

"What— what  did  you  do— that  for?"  His 
furtive  ratlike  face  looked  venomous  in  its  im- 
potent anger.  "I'll  pay  you  for  this — and  don't 
you — forget  it,  Joe  Dunke!" 

132 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  133 

"You'd  shoot  me  in  the  back  the  way  you  did 
Jim  Kinney  if  you  got  a  chance.  I  know  that;  but 
you  see  you  won't  get  a  chance."  *? 

"I  ain't  looking  for  no  such  chance.     I " 

"That's  enough.  I  don't  have  to  stand  for  your 
talk  even  if  I  do  have  to  take  care  of  you.  Light 
your  candle  and  move  along  this  tunnel  lively." 

Something  in  Dunke's  eye  quelled  the  rebellion 
the  other  contemplated.  He  shuffled  along,  whin- 
ing as  he  went  that  he  would  never  have  looked 
for  his  old  pal  to  treat  him  so.  They  climbed  lad- 
ders to  the  next  level,  passed  through  an  empty 
stope,  and  stopped  at  the  end  of  a  drift. 

"I'll  arrange  to  get  you  out  of  here  to-night  and 
have  you  run  across  the  line.  I'm  going  to  give 
you  three  hundred  dollars.  That's  the  last  cent 
you'll  ever  get  out  of  me.  If  you  ever  come  back 
to  this  country  I'll  see  that  you're  hanged  as  you 
deserve." 

With  that  Dunke  turned  on  his  heel  and  was 
gone.  But  his  contempt  for  the  ruffian  he  had 
cowed  was  too  fearless.  He  would  have  thought 
so  if  he  could  have  known  of  the  shadow  that 
dogged  his  heels  through  the  tunnel,  if  he  could 
have  seen  the  bare  fangs  that  had  gained  Struve 
his  name  of  "Wolf,"  if  he  could  have  caught  the 
flash  of  the  knife  that  trembled  in  the  eager  hand. 
He  did  not  know  that,  as  he  shot  up  in  the  cage 
to  the  sunlight,  the  other  was  filling  the  tunnel  with 
imprecations  and  wild  threats,  that  he  was  hugging 


I34  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

himself  with  the  promise  of  a  revenge  that  should 
be  sure  and  final. 

Dunke  went  about  the  task  of  making  the  neces- 
sary arrangements  personally.  He  had  his  surrey 
oacked  with  food,  and  about  eleven  o'clock  drove 
up  to  the  mine  and  was  lowered  to  the  ninth  level. 
An  hour  later  he  stepped  out  of  the  cage  with  a 
prisoner  whom  he  kept  covered  with  a  revolver, 

"It's  that  fellow  Struve,"  he  explained  to  the 
astonished  engineer  in  the  shaft-house.  "I  found 
him  down  below.  It  seems  that  Fraser  took  him 
down  the  Jackrabbit  and  he  broke  loose  and 
worked  through  to  our  ground." 

"Do  you  want  any  help  in  taking  him  down- 
town, sir?  Shall  I  phone  for  the  marshal?" 

His  boss  laughed  scornfully. 

"When  I  can't  handle  one  man  after  I've  got 
him  covered  I'll  let  you  know,  Johnson." 

The  two  men  went  out  into  the  starlit  night  and 
got  into  the  surrey.  The  play  with  the  revolver 
had  hitherto  been  for  the  benefit  of  Johnson,  but 
it  now  became  very  real.  Dunke  jammed  the  rim 
close  to  the  other's  temple. 

"I  want  that  letter  I  wrote  you.  Quick,  by 
Heaven!  No  fairy-tales,  but  the  letter!" 

"I  swear,  Joe " 

"The  letter,  you  villain!  I  know  you  never  let 
it  go  out  of  your  possession.  Give  it  up!  Quick  I" 

Struve's  hand  stole  to  his  breast,  came  out  slowly 
to  the  edge  of  his  coat,  then  leaped  with  a  flash 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  135 

of  something  bright  toward  the  other's  throat.  Sim- 
ultaneously the  revolver  rang  out.  A  curse,  the 
sound  of  a  falling  body,  and  the  frightened  horses 
leaped  forward.  The  wheels  slipped  over  the  edge 
of  the  narrow  mountain  road,  and  surrey,  horses, 
and  driver  plunged  a  hundred  feet  down  to  the 
sharp,  broken  rocks  below. 

Johnson,  hearing  the  shot,  ran  out  and  stumbled 
over  a  body  lying  in  the  road.  By  the  bright  moon- 
light he  could  see  that  it  was  that  of  his  employer. 
The  surrey  was  nowhere  in  sight,  but  he  could 
easily  make  out  where  it  had  slipped  over  the 
precipice.  He  ran  back  into  the  shaft-house  and 
began  telephoning  wildly  to  town. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

STEVE  OFFERS  CONGRATULATIONS 

When  Fraser  reached  the  dining-room  for 
fast  his  immediate  family  had  finished  and  de- 
parted. He  had  been  up  till  four  o'clock  and  his 
mother  had  let  him  sleep  as  long  as  he  would. 
Now,  at  nine,  he  was  up  again  and  fresh  as  a  daisy 
after  a  morning  bath. 

He  found  at  the  next  table  two  other  late 
break  f  asters. 

"Mo'ning,  Miss  Kinney.  How  are  you,  Tennes- 
see?" he  said  amiably. 

Both  Larry  and  the  young  woman  admitted  good 
health,  the  latter  so  blushingly  that  Steve's  keen 
eyes  suggested  to  him  that  he  might  not  be  the  only 
one  with  news  to  tell  this  morning. 

"What's  that  I  hear  about  Struve  and  Dunke?" 
asked  Neill  at  once. 

"Oh,  you've  heard  it.  Well,  it's  true.  I  judge 
Dunke  was  arranging  to  get  him  out  of  the  country.1 
Anyhow,  Johnson  says  he  took  the  fellow  out  tol 
his  surrey  from  the  shaft-house  of  the  Mai  Pais) 
under  his  gun.  A  moment  later  the  engineer  heard! 
a  shot  and  ran  out.  Dunke  lay  in  the  road  dead,) 

136 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  137 

With  a  knife  through  his  heart.  We  found  the 
Surrey  down  in  the  canyon.  It  had  gone  over  the 
edge  of  the  road/  Both  the  hawsses  were  dead, 
and  Struve  had  disappeared.  How  the  thing  hap- 
pened I  reckon  never  will  be  known  unless  the 
convict  tells  it.  My  guess  would  be  that  Dunke 
attacked  him  and  the  convict  was  just  a  little  bit 
more  than  ready  for  him." 

"Have  you  any  idea  where  Struve  is?" 

"The  obvious  guess  would  be  that  he  is  heading 
for  Mexico.  But  I've  got  another  notion.  He 
knows  that's  where  we  will  be  looking  for  him. 
His  record  shows  that  he  used  to  trail  with  a  bunch 
of  outlaws  up  in  Wyoming.  That  was  most  twenty 
years  ago.  His  old  pals  have  disappeared  long 
since.  But  he  knows  that  country  up  there.  He'll 
figure  that  down  here  he's  sure  to  be  caught  and 
hanged  sooner  or  later.  Up  there  he'll  have  a 
chance  to  hide  under  another  name." 

Neill  nodded.     "That's  a  big  country  up  there 
and  the  mountains  are  full  of  pockets.     If  he  can 
Breach  there  he  will  be  safe." 

"Maybe,"  the  ranger  amended  quietly. 
I      "Would  you  follow  him?" 

The  officer's  opaque  gaze  met  the  eyes  of  his  ' 
friend.     "We  don't  aim  to  let  a  prisoner  make  his* 
getaway  once  we  get  our  hands  on  him.    Wyoming 
ain't  so  blamed  far  to  travel  after  him — if  I  learn 
te  is  there." 

iFor  a  moment  all  of  them  were  silent.     Each  of 


138  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

them  was  thinking  of  the  fellow  and  the  horrible 
trail  of  blood  he  had  left  behind  him  in  one  short 
week.  Margaret  looked  at  her  lover  and  shud- 
dered. She  had  not  the  least  doubt  that  this  man 
sitting  opposite  them  would  bring  the  criminal  back 
to  his  punishment,  but  the  sinister  grotesque  shadow 
'of  the  convict  seemed  to  fall  between  her  and  her 
happiness. 

Larry  caught  her  hand  under  the  table  and  gave 
it  a  little  pressure  of  reassurance.  He  spoke  in  a 
low  voice.  "This  hasn't  a  thing  to  do  with  us, 
Peggy — not  a  thing.  They  were  already  both  out 
of  your  life." 

"Yes,  I  know,  but " 

"There  aren't  any  buts."  He  smiled  warmly,  and 
his  smile  took  the  other  man  into  their  confidence. 
"You've  been  having  -a  nightmare.  That's  past. 
See  the  sunshine  on  those  hills.  It's  bright  mo'n- 
ing,  girl.  A  new  day  for  you  and  for  me." 

Steve  grinned.  "This  is  awful  sudden,  Ten- 
nessee. You  must  a-been  sawing  wood  right 
industrious  on  the  hawssback  ride  and  down  in  the 
tunnel.  I  expect  there  wasn't  any  sunshine  down 
there,  was  there?" 
',  "You  go  to  grass,  Steve." 

"No,  Tennessee  is  ce'tainly  no  two-bit  man. 
Lemme  see.  One — two — three — four  days.  That's 
surely  going  some,"  the  ranger  soliloquized. 

"Mr.  Fraser,"  the  young  woman  reproved  with 
a  blush.  i 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  139 

"Don't  mind  him,  Peggy.  He's  merely  jealous," 
came  back  Larry. 

"Course  I'm  jealous.  Whyfornot?  What  license 
have  these  Panhandle  guys  to  come  in  and  tote  off 
our  girls?  But  don't  mind  me.  I'll  pay  strict 
attention  to  my  ham  and  eggs  and  not  see  a  thing 
that's  going  on." 

"Lieutenant!"  Miss  Margaret  was  both  em- 
barrassed and  shocked. 

"Want  me  to  shut  my  eyes,  Tennessee?" 

"Next  time  we  get  engaged  you'll  not  be  let  in 
on  the  ground  floor,"  Neill  predicted. 

"Four  days!  My,  my!  If  that  ain't  rapid 
transit  for  fair!" 

"You're  a  man  of  one  idea,  Steve.  Cayn't  you 
see  that  the  fact's  the  main  thing,  not  the  time  it 
took  to  make  it  one?" 

"And  counting  out  Sunday  and  Monday,  it  only 
leaves  two  days." 

"Don't  let  that  interfere  with  your  breakfast. 
You  haven't  been  elected  timekeeper  for  this  outfit, 
you  know!" 

Fraser  recovered  from  his  daze  and  duly  offered 
congratulations  to  the  one  and  hopes  for  unalloyed 
joy  to  the  other  party  to  the  engagement. 

"But  four  days !"  he  added  in  his  pleasant  drawl. 
''That's  sure  some  precipitous.  Just  to  look  at  him, 
ma'am"  —  this  innocently  to  Peggy — "a  man 
wouldn't  think  he  had  it  in  him  to  locate,  stake  out, 
and  do  the  necessary  assessment  work  on  such  a 


I4Q  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

rich  claim  as  the  Margaret  Kinney  all  in  four  days. 
Mostly  a  fellow  don't  strike  such  high-grade  ore 
without  a  lot  of " 

"That  will  do  for  you,  lieutenant,"  interrupted 
Miss  Kinney,  with  merry,  sparkling  eyes.  "You 
needn't  think  we're  going  to  let  you  trail  this  off 
into  a  compliment  now.  I'm  going  to  leave  you 
and  see  what  Mrs.  Collins  says.  She  won't  sit 
there  and  parrot  Tour  days'  for  the  rest  of  her 
life." 

With  which  Mistress  Peggy  sailed  from  the 
room  in  mock  hauteur. 

When  Larry  came  back  from  closing  the  door 
after  her,  his  friend  fell  upon  him  with  vigorous 
hands  to  the  amazement  of  Wun  Hop,  the  waiter. 

"You  blamed  lucky  son  of  a  gun,"  he  cried 
exuberantly  between  punches.  "You've  ce'tainly 
struck  pure  gold,  Tennessee.  Looks  like  Old  Man 
Good  Luck  has  come  home  to  roost  with  you,  son." 

The  other,  smiling,  shook  hands  with  him.  "I'm 
of  that  opinion  myself,  Steve,"  he  said. 


I 


partH 

THE  GIRL  OF  LOST  VALLEY 


CHAPTER  I 

IN   THE  FIRE  ZONE 

"Say,  you  Teddy  hawss,  I'm  plumb  fed  up  with 
sagebrush  and  scenery.  I  kinder  yearn  for  co'n 
bread  and  ham.  I  sure  would  give  six  bits  for  a 
drink  of  real  wet  water.  Yore  sentiments  are 
similar,  I  reckon,  Teddy." 

The  Texan  patted  the  neck  of  his  cow  pony, 
which  reached  round  playfully  and  pretended  to 
nip  his  leg.  They  understood  each  other,  and  were 
now  making  the  best  of  a  very  unpleasant  situation. 
Since  morning  they  had  been  lost  on  the  desert. 
The  heat  of  midday  had  found  them  plowing  over 
sandy  wastes.  The  declining  sun  had  left  them 
among  the  foothills,  wandering  from  one  to  an- 
other, in  the  vain  hope  that  each  summit  might 
show  the  silvery  gleam  of  a  windmill,  or  even  that 
outpost  of  civilization,  the  barb- wire  fence.  And 
now  the  stars  looked  down  indifferently,  myriads 
of  them,  upon  the  travelers  still  plodding  wearily 
through  a  land  magically  transformed  by  moon- 
light to  a  silvery  loveliness  that  blotted  out  all  the 
garish  details  of  day. 

The  Texan  drew  rein.  "We  all  been  discovering 

143 


144  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

that  Wyoming  is  a  powerful  big  state.  Going  to 
feed  me  a  cigarette,  Teddy.  Too  bad  a  hawss 
cayn't  smoke  his  troubles  away,"  he  drawled,  and 
proceeded  to  roll  a  cigarette,  lighting  it  with  one 
sweeping  motion  of  his  arm,  that  passed  down  the 
leg  of  his  chaps  and  ended  in  the  upward  curve  at 
his  lips. 

The  flame  had  not  yet  died,  when  faintly  through 
the  illimitable  velvet  night  there  drifted  to  him  a 
sound. 

"Did  you  hear  that,  pardner  ?"  the  man  demanded 
softly,  listening  intently  for  a  repetition  of  it. 

It  came  presently,  from  away  over  to  the  left, 
and,  after  it,  what  might  have  been  taken  for  the 
popping  of  a  distant  bunch  of  firecrackers. 

"Celebrating  the  Fourth  some  premature,  looks 
like.  What?  Think  not,  Teddy!  Some  one  get- 
ting shot  up?  Sho!  You  are  romancin',  old 
hawss." 

Nevertheless  he  swung  the  pony  round  and 
started  rapidly  in  the  direction  of  the  shots.  From 
time  to  time  there  came  a  renewal  of  them,  though 
the  intervals  grew  longer  and  the  explosions  were 
now  individual  ones.  He  took  the  precaution  to 
draw  his  revolver  from  the  holster  and  to  examine 
it  carefully. 

"Nothing  like  being  sure.  It's  a  heap  better  than 
being  sorry  afterward,"  he  explained  to  the  cow 
pony. 

For  the  first  time  in  twelve  hours,  he  struck  a 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  145 

road.  Following  this  as  it  wound  up  to  the  summit 
of  a  hill,  he  discovered  that  the  area  of  disturbance 
was  in  the  valley  below.  For,  as*  he  began  his 
descent,  there  was  a  flash  from  a  clump  of  cotton- 
woods  almost  at  his  feet. 

"Did  yo'  git  him?'*  a  voice  demanded  anxiously. 

"Don't  know,  dad,"  the  answer  came,  young, 
warm,  and  tremulous. 

"Hello!  There's  a  kid  there,"  the  Texan 
decided.  Aloud,  he  asked  quietly:  "What's  the 
row,  gentlemen?" 

One  of  the  figures  whirled — it  was  the  boyish 
one,  crouched  behind  a  dead  horse — and  fired  at 
him. 

"Hold  on,  sonny!  I'm  a  stranger.  Don't  make 
any  more  mistakes  like  that." 

"Who  are  you?" 

"Steve  Fraser  they  call  me.  I  just  arrived  from 
Texas.  Wait  a  jiff,  and  I'll  come  down  and 
explain." 

He  stayed  for  no  permission,  but  swung  from  the 
saddle,  trailed  the  reins,  and  started  down  the  slope. 
He  could  hear  a  low- voiced  colloquy  between  the 
two  dark  figures,  and  one  of  them  called  roughly: 

"Hands  up,  friend!  We'll  take  no  chances  on 
yo'." 

The  Texan's  hands  went  up  promptly,  just  as  a 
bullet  flattened  itself  against  a  rock  behind  him.  It 
had  been  fired  from  the  bank  of  the  dry  wash, 
some  hundred  and  fifty  yards  away. 


146  TA    TEXAS  RANGER 

"That's  no  fair!  Both  sides  oughtn't  to  plug 
at  me,"  he  protested,  grinning. 

The  darkness  which  blurred  detail  melted  as 
Fraser  approached,  and  the  moonlight  showed  him 
a  tall,  lank,  unshaven  old  mountaineer,  standing 
behind  a  horse,  his  shotgun  thrown  across  the 
Caddie. 

"That's  near  enough,  Mr.  Fraser  from  Texas," 
said  the  old  man,  in  a  slow  voice  that  carried  the 
Southern  intonation.  "This  old  gun  is  loaded  with 
buckshot,  and  she  scatters  like  hell.  Speak  yore 
little  piece.  How  came  yo'  here,  right  now?" 

"I  got  lost  in  the  Wind  River  bad  lands  this 
mo'ning,  and  I  been  playing  hide  and  go  seek  with 
myself  ever  since." 

"Where  yo'  haided  for?" 

"Gimlet  Butte." 

"Huh!    That's  right  funny,  too." 

"Why?" 

"Because  all  yo'  got  to  do  to  reach  the  butte  is 
to  follow  this  road  and  yore  nose  for  about  three 
miles." 

A  bullet  flung  up  a  spurt  of  sand  beside  the 
horse. 

The  young  fellow  behind  the  dead  horse  broke 
in,  with  impatient  alarm:  "He's  all  right,  dad. 
Can't  you  tell  by  his  way  of  talking  that  he's  from 
the  South?  Make  him  lie  down." 

Something  sweet  and  vibrant  in  the  voice 
lingered  afterward  in  the  Texan's  mind  almost  like 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  147 

a  caress,  but  at  the  time  he  was  too  busy  to  think 
of  this.  He  dropped  behind  a  cotton  wood,  and 
drew  his  revolver,  i 

"How  many  of  them  are  there?"  he  asked  of 
the  lad,  in  a  whisper. 

"About  six,  I  think.     I'm  sorry  I  shot  at  you/' 

"What's  the  row?" 

"They  followed  us  out  of  Gimlet  Butte.  They've 
been  drinking.  Isn't  that  some  one  climbing  up  the 
side  of  the  ridge?" 

"I  believe  it  is.    Let  me  have  your  rifle,  kid." 

"What  for?"  The  youngster  took  careful  aim, 
and  fired. 

A  scream  from  the  sagebrush — just  one,  and 
then  no  more. 

"Bully  for  you',  Arlie,"  the  old  man  said. 

None  of  them  spoke  for  some  minutes,  then 
Fraser  heard  a  sob — a  stifled  one,  but  unmistakable 
none  the  less. 

"Don't  be  afraid,  kid.  We'll  stand  'em  off/' 
the  Texan  encouraged. 

"I  ain't  afraid,  but  I— I Oh,  God,  I've  killed 

a  man." 

The  Texan  stared  at  him,  where  he  lay  in  the 
heavy  shadows,  shaken  with  his  remorse.  "Holy 
smoke!  Wasn't  he  aiming  to  kill  you?  He  likely 
isn't  dead,  anyhow.  You  got  real  troubles  to  worry 
about,  without  making  up  any." 

He  could  see  the  youngster  shaking  with  the 
horror  of  it,  and  could  hear  the  staccato  sobs 


148  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

forcing  themselves  through  the  closed  teeth.  Some- 
thing about  it,  some  touch  of  pathos  he  could  not 
account  for,  moved  his  not  very  accessible  heart. 
After  all,  he  was  a  slim  little  kid  to  be  engaged  in 
such  a  desperate  encounter.  Eraser  remembered 
his  own  boyhood  and  the  first  time  he  had  ever  seen 
bloodshed,  and,  recalling  it,  he  slipped  across  in 
the  darkness  and  laid  an  arm  across  the  slight 
shoulder. 

"Don't  you  worry,  kid.  It's  all  right.  You 
didn't  mean " 

He  broke  off  in  swift,  unspeakable  amazement. 
His  eye  traveled  up  the  slender  figure  from  the 
telltale  skirt.  This  was  no  boy  at  all,  but  a  girl. 
As  he  took  in  the  mass  of  blue-black  hair  and  the 
soft  but  clean-cut  modeling  from  ear  to  chin,  his 
hand  fell  from  her  shoulder.  What  an  idiot  he 
had  been  not  to  know  from  the  first  that  such  a 
voice  could  have  come  only  from  a  woman!  He 
had  been  deceived  by  the  darkness  and  by  the 
slouch  hat  she  wore.  He  wanted  to  laugh  in 
sardonic  scorn  of  his  perception. 

But  on  the  heel  of  that  came  a  realization  of 
her  danger.  He  must  get  her  out  of  there  at  once, 
for  he  knew  that  the  enemy  must  be  circling  round, 
to  take  them  on  the  flank  too.  It  was  not  a  question 
of  whether  they  could  hold  off  the  attackers.  They 
might  do  that,  and  yet  she  might  be  killed  while 
they  were  doing  it.  A  man  used  to  coping  with 


^ A    TEXAS  RANGER  149 

emergencies,  his  brain  now  swiftly  worked  out  a 
way  of  escape. 

"Yore  father  and  I  will  take-  care  of  these 
coyotes.  You  slip  along-  those  shadows  up  the  hill 
to  where  my  Teddy  hawss  is,  and  burn  the  wind  out 
of  here,"  he  told  her. 

"I'll  not  leave  dad,"  she  said  quickly. 

The  old  mountaineer  behind  the  horse  laughed 
apologetically.  "I  been  trying  to  git  her  to  go,  but 
she  won't  stir.  With  the  pinto  daid,  o'  course  we 
couldn't  both  make  it." 

"That's  plumb  foolishness,"  the  Texan  com- 
mented irritably. 

"Mebbe,"  admitted  the  girl;  "but  I  reckon  I'll 
stay  long  as  dad  does." 

"No  use  being  pigheaded  about  it." 

Her  dark  eyes  flashed.  "Is  this  your  say-so,  Mr. 
Whatever-your-name-is  ?"  she  asked  sharply,  less 
because  she  resented  what  he  said  than  because  she 
was  strung  to  a  wire  edge. 

His  troubled  gaze  took  in  again  her  slim  girlish- 
ness.  The  frequency  of  danger  had  made  him 
proof  against  fear  for  himself,  but  just  now  he 
was  very  much  afraid  for  her.  Hard  man  as  he 
was,  he  had  the  Southerner's  instinctive  chivalry  to- 
ward woman. 

"You  better  go,  Arlie,"  her  father  counseled 
weakly. 

"Well,  I  won't,"  she  retorted  emphatically. 


150  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

The  old  man  looked  whimsically  at  the  Texan. 
"Yo'  see  yo'self  how  it  is,  stranger." 

Fraser  saw,  and  the  girl's  stanchness  stirred  his 
admiration  even  while  it  irritated  him.  He  made 
his  decision  immediately. 

"All  right.     Both  of  you  go." 

"But  we  have  only  one  horse,"  the  girl  objected. 
"They  would  catch  us." 

"Take  my  Teddy." 

"And  leave  you  here  ?"  The  dark  eyes  were  full 
on  him  again,  this  time  in  a  wide-open  surprise. 

"Oh,  I'll  get  out  once  you're  gone.  No  trouble 
about  that." 

"How?" 

"We  couldn't  light  out,  and  leave  yo'  here,"  the 
father  interrupted. 

"Of  course  we  couldn't,"  the  girl  added  quick- 
ly. "It  isn't  your  quarrel,  anyhow." 

"What  good  can  you  do  staying  here?"  argued 
Fraser.  "They  want  you,  not  me.  With  you  gone, 
I'll  slip  away  or  come  to  terms  with  them.  They 
haven't  a  thing  against  me." 

"That's  right,"  agreed  the  older  man,  rubbing 
his  stubbly  beard  with  his  hand.  "That's  sho'ly 
/  right." 

"But  they  might  get  you  before  they  under- 
stood," Arlie  urged. 

"Oh,  I'll  keep  under  cover,  and  when  it's  time, 
I'll  sing  out  and  let  them  know.  Better  leave  me 
that  rifle,  though."  He  went  right  on,  taking  it 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  151 

for  granted  that  she  had  consented  to  go:  "Slip 
through  those  shadows  up  that  draw.  You'll  have 
no  trouble  with  -Teddy.  Whistle  when  you're 
ready,  and  your  father  will  make  a  break  up  the 
hill  on  his  hawss.  So-long.  See  you  later  some 
time,  mebbe." 

She  went  reluctantly,  not  convinced,  but  over-  I 
borne  by  the  quality  of  cheerful  compulsion  that 
lay  in  him.  He  was  not  a  large  man,  though  the 
pack  and  symmetry  of  his  muscles  promised  unusual 
strength.  But  the  close-gripped  jaw,  the  cool 
serenity  of  the  gray  eyes  that  looked  without  ex- 
citement upon  whatever  they  saw,  the  perfect  poise 
of  his  carriage — all  contributed  to  a  personality 
plainly  that  of  a  leader  of  men. 

It  was  scarce  a  minute  later  that  the  whistle  came 
from  the  hilltop.  The  mountaineer  instantly  swung- 
to  the  saddle  and  set  his  pony  to  a  canter  up  the 
draw.  Fraser  could  see  him  join  his  daughter  in 
the  dim  light,  for  the  moon  had  momentarily  gone 
behind  a  cloud,  but  almost  at  once  the  darkness 
swallowed  them. 

Some  one  in  the  sagebrush  called  to  a  com- 
panion, and  the  Texan  knew  that  the  attackers  had 
heard  the  sound  of  the  galloping  horses.  Without 
waiting  an  instant,  he  fired  twice  in  rapid  suc- 
cession. 

"That'll  hold  them  for  a  minute  or  two,"  he  told 
himself.  "They  won't  understand  it,  and  they'll 
get  together  and  have  a  powwow." 


"A    TEXAS  RANGER 


He  crouched  behind  the  dead  horse,  his  gaze 
-sweeping  the  wash,  the  sagebrush,  and  the  distant 
group  of  cottonwoods  from  which  he  had  seen  a 
shot  fired.  Though  he  lay  absolutely  still,  without 
the  least  visible  excitement,  he  was  alert  and  tense 
to  the  finger  tips.  Not  the  slightest  sound,  not  the 
smallest  motion  of  the  moonlit  underbrush,  escaped 
his  unwavering  scrutiny. 

The  problem  before  him  was  to  hold  the  attackers 
long  enough  for  Arlie  and  her  father  to  make  their 
escape,  without  killing  any  of  them  or  getting 
killed  himself.  He  knew  that,  once  out  of  the 
immediate  vicinity,  the  fugitives  would  leave  the 
road  and  take  to  some  of  the  canyons  that  ran  from 
the  foothills  into  the  mountains.  If  he  could  secure 
them  a  start  of  fifteen  minutes  that  ought  to  be 
enough. 

A  voice  from  the  wash  presently  hailed  him: 

"See  here!  We're  going  to  take  you  back  with 
us,  old  man.  That's  a  cinch.  We  want  you  for 
that  Squaw  Creek  raid,  and  we're  going  to  have 
you.  You  done  enough  damage.  Better  surrender 
peaceable,  and  we'll  promise  to  take  you  back  to 
jail.  What  say?" 

"Gimme  five  minutes  to  think  it  over,"  demanded 
the  Texan. 

"All  right,  five  minutes.  But  you  want  to 
remember  that  it's  all  off  with  you  if  you  don't  give 
up.  Billy  Faulkner's  dead,  and  we'll  sure  come 
a-shooting." 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  153; 

Fraser  waited  till  his  five  minutes  was  nearly  up, 
then  plunged  across  the  road  into  the  sagebrush 
growing  thick  there.  A  shot  or  two  rang  out, 
without  stopping  him.  Suddenly  a  man  rose  out 
of  the  sage  in  front  of  him,  a  revolver  in  his 
hand. 

For  a  fraction  of  a  second,  the  two  men  faced 
each  other  before  either  spoke. 

"Who  are  you?" 

Fraser's  answer  was  to  dive  for  the  man's  knees, 
just  as  a  football  tackle  does.  They  went  down 
together,  but  it  was  the  Texan  got  up  first.  A 
second  man  was  running  toward  him. 

"Hands  up,  there !"  the  newcomer  ordered. 

Fraser's  hand  went  up,  but  with  his  forty-five 
in  it.  The  man  pitched  forward  into  the  sage. 
The  Southerner  twisted  forward  again,  slid  down 
into  the  dry  creek,  and  ran  along  its  winding  bed 
for  a  hundred  yards.  Then  he  left  it,  cutting  back 
toward  the  spot  where  he  had  lain  behind  the  dead 
horse.  Hiding  in  the  sage,  he  heard  the  pursuit 
pouring  down  the  creek,  waited  till  it  was  past,  and 
quickly  recrossed  the  road.  Here,  among  the  cow- 
backed  hills,  he  knew  he  was  as  safe  as  a  needle 
in  a  haystack. 

"I  had  to  get  that  anxious  guy,  but  it  might  have 
been  a  whole  lot  worse.  I  only  plugged  his  laig 
for  him,"  he  reflected  comfortably.  "Wonder  why 
they  wanted  to  collect  the  old  man's  scalp,  anyhow  ? 
The  little  girl  sure  was  game.  Just  like  a  woman,, 


154  A    TEXAS 'RANGER 

though,  the  way  she  broke  down  because  she  hit 
that  fellow." 

Within  five  minutes  he  was  lost  again  among 
the  thousand  hills  that  rose  like  waves  of  the  sea, 
one  after  another.  It  was  not  till  nearly  morning 
that  he  again  struck  a  road. 

He  was  halted  abruptly  by  a  crisp  command  from 
behind  a  bowlder: 

"Up  with  your  hands — quick!" 

"Who  are  you,  my  friend?"  the  Texan  asked 
mildly. 

"Deputy  sheriff,"  was  the  prompt  response. 
"Now,  reach  for  the  sky,  and  prompt,  too." 

"Just  as  you  say.  You've  ce'tainly  got  the  crawl 
on  me." 

The  deputy  disarmed  his  captive,  and  drove  him 
into  town  before  him.  When  morning  dawned, 
Fraser  found  himself  behind  the  bars.  H|  was 
arrested  for  the  murder  of  Faulkner. 


•   .    -  '• 
CHAPTER  II 

A   COMPACT 

After  the  jailer  had  brought  his  breakfast, 
Frase*  was  honored  by  a  visit  from  the  sheriff,  a 
big,  rawboned  Westerner,  with  the  creases  of  fifty 
outdoor  years  stamped  on  his  brown,  leathery  face. 

He  greeted  his  prisoner  pleasantly  enough,  and 
sat  down  on  the  bed. 

"Treating  you  right,  are  they?"  he  asked,  glanc- 
ing around.  "Breakfast  up  to  the  mark?" 

"I've  got  no  kick  coming,  thank  you,"  said 
Fraser. 

"Good!" 

The  sheriff  relapsed  into  sombre  silence.  There 
was  a  troubled  look  in  the  keen  eyes  that  the  Texan 
did  not  understand.  Fraser  waited  for  the  officer 
to  develop  the  object  of  his  visit,  and  it  was  set 
down  to  his  credit.  A  weaker  man  would  have  , 
rushed  at  once  into  excuses  and  explanations.  But 
in  the  prisoner's  quiet,  steely  eyes,  in  the  close-shut  I 
mouth  and  salient  jaw,  in  the  set  of  his  well-knit 
figure,  Sheriff  Brandt  found  small  room  for  weak- 
ness. Whoever  he  was,  this  man  was  one  who 
could  hold  his  own  in  the  strenuous  game  of  life* 

'155 


156  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

"My  friend,"  said  the  sheriff  abruptly,  "you  and 
I  are  up  against  it.  There  is  going  to  be  trouble 
in  town  to-night." 

The  level,  gray  eyes  looked  questioningly  at  the 
sheriff. 

"You  butted  into  grief  a-plenty  when  you  lined 
tip  with  the  cattlemen  in  this  sheep  war.  Who  do 
you  ride  for?" 

"I'm  not  riding  for  anybody,"  responded  Fraser. 
"I  just  arrived  from  Texas.  Didn't  even  know 
there  was  a  feud  on." 

Brandt  laughed  incredulously.  "That  will  sound 
good  to  a  jury,  if  your  case  ever  comes  to  that 
stage.  How  do  you  expect  to  explain  Billy  Faulk- 
ner's death?" 

"Is  there  any  proof  I  killed  him?" 

"Some.  You  were  recognized  by  two  men  last 
night  while  you  were  trying  to  escape.  You  carried 
a  rifle  that  uses  the  same  weight  bullet  as  the  one 
we  dug  out  of  Billy.  When  you  attacked  Tom 
Peake  you  dropped  that  rifle,  and  in  your  getaway 
hadn't  time  to  pick  it  up  again.  That  is  evidence 
enough  for  a  Wyoming  jury,  in  the  present  state 
of  public  opinion." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'in  the  present  state  of 
public  opinion'?" 

"I  mean  that  this  whole  country  is  pretty  nearly 
solid  against  the  Cedar  Mountain  cattlemen,  since 
they  killed  Campeau  and  Jennings  in  that  raid  on 

i 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  157 

their  camp.     You  know  what  I  mean  as  well  as  I 
do." 

Fraser  did  not  argue  the  point.  He  remembered 
now  having  seen  an  account  of  the  Squaw  Creek 
raid  on  a  sheep  camp,  ending  in  a  battle  that  had 
resulted  in  the  death  of  two  men  and  the  wounding 
of  three  others.  He  had  been  sitting  in  a  hotel 
at  San  Antonio,  Texas,  when  he  had  read  the  story 
over  his  after-dinner  cigar.  The  item  had  not 
seemed  even  remotely  connected  with  himself. 
Now  he  was  in  prison  at  Gimlet  Butte,  charged  with 
murder,  and  unless  he  was  very  much  mistaken 
the  sheriff  was  hinting  at  a  lynching.  The  Squaw 
Creek  raid  had  come  very  near  to  him,  for  he  knew 
the  fight  he  had  interrupted  last  night  had  grown 
out  of  it. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  trouble  to-night?"  he 
asked,  in  an  even,  conversational  tone. 

The  sheriff  looked  directly  at  him.  "You're  a 
man,  I  reckon.  That  calls  for  the  truth.  Men  are 
riding  up  and  down  this  country  to-day,  stirring 
up  sentiment  against  your  outfit.  To-night  the 
people  will  gather  in  town,  arid  the  jail  will  be 
attacked." 

"And  you?" 
p     "I'll  uphold  the  law  as  long  as  I  can." 

Fraser  nodded.  He  knew  Brandt  spoke  the 
simple  truth.  What  he  had  sworn  to  do  he  would 
do  to  the  best  of  his  ability.  But  the  Texan  knew. 


158  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

too,   that  the  ramshackle  jail   would   be  torn   to 
pieces  and  the  sheriff  overpowered. 

From  his  coat  pocket  he  drew  a  letter,  and 
presented  it  to  the  other.  "I  didn't  expect  to  give 
this  to  you  under  these  circumstances,  Mr.  Brandt, 
but  I'd  like  you  to  know  that  I'm  on  the  level  when 
I  say  I  don't  know  any  of  the  Squaw  Creek  cattle-  \ 
men  and  have  never  ridden  for  any  outfit  in  this 
State." 

Brandt  tore  open  the  letter,  and  glanced  hur- 
riedly through  it.  ''Why,  it's  from  old  Sam  Slau- 
son !  We  used  to  ride  herd  together  when  we  were 
boys."  And  he  real  aloud: 

"Introducing  Steve  Fraser,  lieutenant  in  the  Texas   Ran- 
gers." 

He  glanced  up  quickly.  "You're  not  the  Fraser 
that  ran  down  Chacon  and  his  gang  of  murderers?" 

"Yes,  I  was  on  that  job." 

Brandt  shook  hands  heartily.  "They  say  it  was 
a  dandy  piece  of  work.  I  read  that  story  in  a 
magazine.  You  delivered  the  goods  proper." 

The  ranger  was  embarrassed.  "Oh,  it  wasn't 
much  of  a  job.  The  man  that  wrote  it  put  in  the 
fancy  touches,  to  make  his  story  sell,  I  expect." 

"Yes,  he  did!  I  know  all  about  that!"  the 
sheriff  derided.  "I've  got  to  get  you  out  of  this 
hole  somehow.  Do  you  mind  if  I  send  for  Milliard, 
the  prosecuting  attorney?  He's  a  bright  young 
fellow,  loaded  to  the  guards  with  ideas.  What  I 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  159 

want  is  to  get  at  a  legal  way  of  fixing  this  thing 
up,  you  understand.  I'll  call  him  up  on  the  phone, 
and  have  him  run  over." 

Hilliard  was  shortly  on  the  spot — a  short,  fat 
little  fellow  with  eyeglasses.  He  did  not  at  first 
show  any  enthusiasm  in  the  prisoner's  behalf. 

"I  don't  doubt  for  a  moment  that  you  are  the 
man  this  letter  says  you  are,  Mr.  Eraser,"  he  said 
suavely.  "But  facts  are  stubborn  things.  You 
were  seen  carrying  the  gun  that  killed  Faulkner. 
We  can't  get  away  from  that  just  because  you 
happen  to  have  a  letter  of  introduction  to  Mr. 
Brandt." 

"I  don't  want  to  get  away  from  it,"  retorted 
Fraser.  "I  have  explained  how  I  got  into  the  fight. 
A  man  doesn't  stand  back  and  see  two  people,  and 
one  of  them  a  girl,  slaughtered  by  seven  or  eight." 

The  lawyer's  fat  forefinger  sawed  the  air. 
"That's  how  you  put  it.  Mind,  I  don't  for  a 
moment  say  it  isn't  the  right  way.  But  what  the 
public  wants  is  proof.  Can  you  give  evidence  to 
show  that  Faulkner  and  his  friends  attacked  Dillon 
and  his  daughter?  Have  you  even  got  them  on 
hand  here  to  support  your  statement?  Have  you 
got  a  grain  of  evidence,  apart  from  your  bare 
word?" 

"That  letter  shows " 

"It  shows  nothing.  You  might  have  written  it 
yourself  last  night.  Anyhow,  a  letter  of  introduc- 
tion isn't  quite  an  excuse  for  murder." 


i6o  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

"It  wasn't  murder." 

"That's  what  you  say.  I'll  be  glad  to  have  you 
prove  it." 

"They  followed  Dillon — if  that  is  his  name — 
out  of  town." 

"They  put  it  that  they  were  on  their  way  home, 
when  they  were  attacked." 

"By  an  old  man  and  his  daughter,"  the  Texan 
adaea  significantly. 

"There  again  we  have  only  your  statement  for 
it  Half  a  dozen  men  had  been  in  town  during 
the  day  from  the  Cedar  Mountain  district.  These 
men  were  witnesses  in  the  suit  that  rose  over  a 
sheep  raid.  They  may  all  have  been  on  the  spot, 
to  ambush  Faulkner's  crowd." 

Brandt  broke  in :  "Are  you  personally  convinced 
that  this  gentleman  is  Lieutenant  Fraser  of  the 
Rangers?" 

"Personally,  I  am  of  opinion  that  he  is,  but " 

"Hold  your  horses,  Dave.  Believing  that,  do 
you  think  that  we  ought  to  leave  him  here  to  be 
lynched  to-night  by  Peake's  outfit?" 

"That  isn't  my  responsibility,  but  speaking 
merely  as  a  private  citizen,  I  should  say,  No." 

"What  would  you  do  with  him  then?" 

"Why  not  take  him  up  to  your  house?" 

"Wouldn't  be  safe  a  minute,  or  in  any  other 
house  in  town." 

"Then  get  out  of  town  with  him." 

"It  can't  be  done.     I'm  watched." 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  161 

Hilliard  shrugged. 

The  ranger's  keen  eyes  went  from  one  to  another. 
He  saw  that  what  the  lawyer  needed  was  some 
personal  interest  to  convert  him  into  a  partisan. 
From  his  pocket  he  drew  another  letter  and  some 
papers. 

"If  you  doubt  that  I  am  Lieutenant  Fraser  you 
can  wire  my  captain  at  Dallas.  This  is  a  letter  of 
congratulation  to  me  from  the  Governor  of  Texas 
for  my  work  in  the  Chacon  case.  Here's  my  rail- 
road ticket,  and  my  lodge  receipt.  You  gentlemen 
are  the  officers  in  charge.  I  hold  you  personally 
responsible  for  my  safety — for  the  safety  of  a  man 
whose  name,  by  chance,  is  now  known  all  over  this 
country." 

This  was  a  new  phase  of  the  situation,  and  it 
went  home  to  the  lawyer's  mind  at  once.  He  had 
been  brought  into  the  case  willy  nilly,  and  he  would 
be  blamed  for  anything  that  happened  to  this  young 
Texan,  whose  deeds  had  recently  been  exploited 
broadcast  in  the  papers.  He  stood  for  an  instant 
in  frowning  thought,  and  as  he  did  so  a  clause  in 
the  letter  from  the  Governor  of  Texas  caught  and 
held  his  eye. 

.  .  .  which  I  regard  as  the  ablest,  most  daring,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  the  most  difficult  and  most  successful  piece  of 
secret  service  that  has  come  to  my  knowledge.  .  .  . 

Suddenly,  Hilliard  saw  the  way  out — a  way  that 
appealed  to  him  none  the  less  because  it  would  also 
serve  his  own  ambitions. 


162  A   TEXAS  RANGER ' 

"Neither  you  nor  I  have  any  right  to  help  this 
gentleman  to  escape,  sheriff.  The  law  is  plain.  He 
is  charged  with  murder.  We  haven't  any  right  to 
let  our  private  sympathies  run  away  with  us.  But 
there  is  one  thing  we  can  do." 

"What  is  that?"  the  sheriff  asked. 

"Let  him  earn  his  freedom."  , 

"Earn  it!     How?" 

"By  serving  the  State  in  this  very  matter  of  the 
Squaw  Creek  raid.  As  prosecuting  attorney,  it  is 
in  my  discretion  to  accept  the  service  of  an  ac- 
complice to  a  crime  in  fixing  the  guilt  upon  the 
principals.  Before  the  law,  Lieutenant  Fraser 
stands  accused  of  complicity.  We  believe  him  not 
guilty,  but  that  does  not  affect  the  situation.  Let 
him  go  up  into  the  Cedar  Mountain  country  and 
find  out  the  guilty  parties  in  the  Squaw  Creek 
raid." 

"And  admit  my  guilt  by  compromising  with 
you?"  the  Texan  scoffed. 

"Not  at  all.     You  need  not  go  publicly.      In^ 
point  of  fact,  you  couldn't  get  out  of  town  alive  if 
it  were  known.    No,  we'll  arrange  to  let  you  break 
jail  on  condition  that  you  go  up  into  the  Lost 
Canyon  district,  and  run  down  the  murderers  of  . 
Campeau  and  Jennings.     That  gives  us  an  excuse 
for   letting  you  go.      You   see   the   point — don't 
you?" 

The  Texan  grinned.  "That  isn't  quite  the  point, 
is  it?"  he  drawled.  "If  I  should  be  successful,  you 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  163 

will  achieve  a  reputation,  without  any  cost  to  your- 
self. That's  worth  mentioning." 

Hilliard  showed  a  .momentary  embarrassment. 

'That's  incidental.  Besides,  it  will  help  your 
reputation  more  than  mine." 

Brandt  got  busy  at  once  with  the  details  of  the 
escape.  "We'll  loosen  up  the  mortar  round  the  bars 
in  the  south  room.  They  are  so  rickety  anyhow  I 
haven't  kept  any  prisoners  there  for  years.  After 
you  have  squeezed  through  you  will  find  a  horse 
saddled  in  the  draw,  back  here.  You'll  want  a 
gun  of  course." 

"Always  providing  Lieutenant  Fraser  consents 
to  the  arrangement,"  the  lawyer  added  smoothly. 

"Oh,  I'll  consent,"  laughed  Fraser  wryly.  "I 
have  no  option.  Of  course,  if  I  win  I  get  the  re- 
ward— whatever  it  is." 

"Oh,  of  course." 

"Then  I'm  at  your  service,  gentlemen,  to  escape 
whenever  you  say  the  word." 

"The  best  time  would  be  right  after  lunch.  That 
would  give  you  five  hours  before  Nichols  was  in 
here  again,"  the  sheriff  suggested. 

"Suppose  you  draw  a  map,  showing  the  route 
I'm  to  follow  to  reach  Cedar  Mountain.  I  reckon 
I  had  better  not  trouble  folks  to  ask  them  the  way." 
And  the  Texan  grinned. 

"That's  right.  I'll  fix  you  up,  and  tell  you  later 
just  where  you'll  find  the  horse,"  Brandt  answered. 

"You're  an  officer  yourself,  lieutenant,"  said  the 


164  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

lawyer.  "You  know  just  how  much  evidence  it 
takes  to  convict.  Well,  that's  just  how  much  we 
want.  If  you  have  to  communicate  with  us,  ad* 
dress  T.  L.  Meredith,  Box  117.'  Better  send  your 
letter  in  cipher.  Here's  a  little  code  I  worked  out 
that  we  sometimes  use.  Well,  so-long.  Good 
hunting,  lieutenant." 

Fraser  nodded  farewell,  but  did  not  offer  to 
shake  hands. 

Brandt  lingered  for  an  instant.  "Don't  make 
any  mistake,  Fraser,  about  this  job  you've  bit  off. 
It's  a  big  one,  and  don't  you  forget  it.  People  are 
sore  on  me  because  I  have  fallen  down  on  it.  I 
can't  help  it.  I  just  can't  get  the  evidence.  If  you 
tackle  it,  you'll  be  in  danger  from  start  to  finish. 
There  are  some  bad  men  in  this  country,  and  the 
worst  of  them  are  lying  low  in  Lost  Valley." 

The  ranger  smiled  amiably.  "Where  is  this  Lost 
Valley?" 

"Somewhere  up  in  the  Cedar  Mountain  district. 
I've  never  been  there.  Few  men  have,  for  it  is 
not  easy  to  find;  and  even  if  it  were  strangers  are 
not  invited." 

"Well,  I'll  have  to  invite  myself." 

"That's  all  right.  But  remember  this.  There 
are  men  up  there  who  would  drill  holes  in  a  dying 
man.  I  guess  Lost  Valley  is  the  country  God  for- 
got." 

"Sounds  right  interesting," 


^ A    TEXAS  RANGER  165 

"You'll  find  it  all  that,  and  don't  forget  that  if 
they  find  out  what  you  are  doing  there,  it  will  be 
God  help  Steve  Fraser!" 

The  rangers  eyes  gleamed.    "I'll  try  to 
her  it" 


CHAPTER  III 

INTO  LOST  VALLEY 

It  was  one-twenty  when  Fraser  slipped  the  iron 
bar  from  the  masonry  into  which  it  had  been  fixed 
and  began  to  lower  himself  from  the  window.  The 
back  of  the  jail  faced  on  the  bank  of  a  creek;  and 
into  the  aspens,  which  ran  along  it  at  this  point  in 
-a  little  grove,  the  fugitive  pushed  his  way.  He  de- 
scended to  the  creek  edge  and  crossed  the  mountain 
stream  on  bowlders  which  filled  its  bed.  From 
here  he  followed  the  trail  for  a  hundred  yards  that 
led  up  the  little  river.  On  the  way  he  passed  a  boy 
fishing  and  nodded  a  greeting  to  him. 

"What  time  is  it,  mister?"  the  youngster  asked. 

A  glance  at  his  watch  showed  the  Texan  that  it 
was  one-twenty-five. 

"The  fish  have  quit  biting.  Blame  it  all,  I'm 
going  home.  Say,  mister,  Jimmie  Spence  says 
they're  going  to  lynch  that  fellow  who  killed  Billy 
Faulkner — going  to  hang  him  to-night,  Jimmie 
says.  Do  you  reckon  they  will?" 

"No,  I  reckon  not." 

""Tha's  what  I  told  him,  but  Jimmie  says  he  heard 
166 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  167 

Tom  Peake  say  so.  Jimmie  says  this  town  will  be 
full  o'  folks  by  night." 

Without  waiting' to  hear  any  more  of  Jimmie's 
prophecies,  Fraser  followed  the  trail  till  it  reached 
a  waterfall  Brandt  had  mentioned,  then  struck 
sharply  to  the  right.  In  a  little  bunch  of  scrub 
oaks  he  found  a  saddled  horse  tied  to  a  sapling. 
His  instructions  were  to  cross  the  road,  which  ran 
parallel  with  the  stream,  and  follow  the  gulch  that 
led  to  the  river.  Half  an  hour's  travel  brought  him 
to  another  road.  Into  this  he  turned,  and  followed 
it. 

In  a  desperate  hurry  though  he  was,  Steve  dared 
not  show  it.  He  held  his  piebald  broncho  to  the 
ambling  trot  a  cowpony  naturally  drops  into.  From 
his  coat  pocket  he  flashed  a  mouthharp  for  use  in 
emergency. 

Presently  he  met  three  men  riding  into  town. 
They  nodded  at  him,  in  the  friendly,  casual  way  of 
the  outdoors  West.  The  gait  of  the  pony  was  a 
leisurely  walk,  and  its  rider  was  industriously  ex- 
ecuting, "I  Met  My  Love  In  the  Alamo." 

"Going  the  wrong  way,  aren't  you?"  one  of  the 
three  suggested. 

"Don't  you  worry,  I'll  be  there  when  y'u  hang 
that  guy  they  caught  last  night/'  he  told  them  with 
a  grin. 

From  time  to  time  he  met  others.  All  travel 
seemed  to  be  headed  townward.  There  was  excite- 
ment in  the  air.  In  the  clear  atmosphere  voices 


168  A    TEXAS   RANGER 

carried  a  long  way,  and  all  the  conversation  that 
came  to  him  was  on  the  subjects  of  the  war  for 
the  range,  the  battle  of  the  previous  evening,  and 
the  lynching  scheduled  to  take  place  in  a  few  hours. 
He  realized  that  he  had  escaped  none  too  soon,  for 
it  was  certain  that  as  the  crowd  in  town  multiplied, 
they  would  set  a  watch  on  the  jail  to  prevent  Brandt 
from  slipping  out  with  his  prisoner. 

About  four  miles  from  town  he  cut  the  telephone 
wires,  for  he  knew  that  as  soon  as  his  escape  be- 
came known  to  the  jailer,  the  sheriff  would  be  noti- 
fied, and  he  would  telephone  in  every  direction  the 
escape  of  his  prisoner,  just  the  same  as  if  there  had 
been  no  arrangement  between  them.  It  was  certain, 
too,  that  all  the  roads  leading  from  Gimlet  Butte 
would  be  followed  and  patrolled  immediately.  For 
which  reason  he  left  the  road  after  cutting  the 
wires,  and  took  to  the  hill  trail  marked  out  for  him 
in  the  map  furnished  by  Brandt. 

By  night,  he  was  far  up  in  the  foothills.  Close 
to  a  running  stream,  he  camped  in  a  little,  grassy 
park,  where  his  pony  could  find  forage.  Brandt 
had  stuffed  his  saddlebags  with  food,  and  had  tied 
behind  a  sack,  with  a  feed  or  two  of  oats  for  his 
horse.  Fraser  had  ridden  the  range  too  many  years 
to  risk  lighting  a  fire,  even  though  he  had  put 
thirty-five  miles  between  him  and  Gimlet  Butte. 
(The  night  was  chill,  as  it  always  is  in  that  altitude, 
but  he  rolled  up  in  his  blanket,  got  what  sleep  he 
could,  and  was  off  again  by  daybreak. 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  169 

Before  noon  he  was  high  in  the  mountain  passes, 
from  which  he  could  sometimes  look  down  into  the 
green  parks  where  nested  the  little  ranches  of  small 
cattlemen.  He  knew  now  that  he  was  beyond  the 
danger  of  the  first  hurried  pursuit,  and  that  it  was 
more  than  likely  that  any  of  these  mountaineers 
would  hide  him  rather  than  give  him  up.  Never- 
theless, he  had  no  immediate  intention  of  putting 
them  to  the  test. 

The  second  night  came  down  on  him  far  up  on 
Dutchman  Creek,  in  the  Cedar  Mountain  district. 
He  made  a  bed,  where  his  horse  found  a  meal,  in  a 
haystack  of  a  small  ranch,  the  buildings  of  which 
were  strung  along  the  creek.  He  was  weary,  and 
he  slept  deep.  When  he  awakened  next  morning, 
it  was  to  hear  the  sound  of  men's  voices.  They 
drifted  to  him  from  the  road  in  front  of  the  house. 

Carefully  he  looked  down  from  the  top  of  his 
stack  upon  three  horsemen  talking  to  the  bare- 
headed ranchman  whom  they  had  called  out  from 
his  breakfast. 

"No,  I  ain't  seen  a  thing  of  him.  Shot  Billy 
Faulkner,  you  say  ?  What  in  time  for  ?"  the  rancher 
was  innocently  asking. 

"You  know  what  for,  Hank  Speed,"  the  leadef 
of  the  posse  made  sullen  answer.  "Well,  boys,  we 
better  be  pushing  on,  I  expect." 

Fraser  breathed  freer  when  they  rode  out  of 
sight.  He  had  overslept,  and  had  had  a  narrow 
shave ;  for  his  pony  was  grazing  in  the  alfalfa  field 


I7Q  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

within  a  hundred  yards  of  them  at  that  moment. 
No  sooner  had  the  posse  gone  than  Hank  Speed 
stepped  across  the  field  without  an  instant's  hesita- 
tion and  looked  the  animal  over,  after  which  he 
returned  to  the  house  and  came  out  again  with  a 
rifle  in  his  hands. 

The  ranger  slid  down  the  farther  side  of  the  stack 
and  slipped  his  revolver  from  its  holster.  He 
watched  the  ranchman  make  a  tour  of  the  out- 
buildings  very  carefully  and  cautiously,  then  make 
a  circuit  of  the  haystack  at  a  safe  distance.  Soon 
the  rancher  caught  sight  of  the  man  crouching 
against  it. 

"Oh,  you're  there,  are  you  ?  Put  up  that  gun.  I 
ain't  going  to  do  you  any  harm." 

"What's  the  matter  with  you  putting  yours  up 
first?"  asked  the  Texan  amiably. 

"I  tell  you  I  ain't  going  to  hurt  you.  Soon  as  I 
stepped  out  of  the  house  I  seen  your  horse.  All  I 
had  to  do  was  to  say  so,  and  they  would  have  had 
you  slick." 

"What  did  you  get  your  gun  for  then?" 

"I  ain't  taking  any  chances  till  folks'  intentions 
has  been  declared.  You  might  have  let  drive  at  me 
before  I  got  a  show  to  talk  to  you." 

"All  right.  I'll  trust  you."  Eraser  dropped  his 
revolver,  and  the  other  came  across  to  him. 

"Up  in  this  country  we  ain't  in  mourning  for 
Billy  Faulkner.  Old  man  Dillon  told  me  what  you 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  171 

done  for  him.  I  reckon  we  can  find  cover  for  you 
till  things  quiet  down.  My  name  is  Speed." 

"Call  me  Eraser." 

"Glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Fraser.  I  reckon  we 
better  move  you  back  into  the  timber  a  bit.  Deputy 
sheriffs  are  some  thick  around  here  right  now.  If 
you  have  to  lie  hid  up  in  this  country  for  a  spell,, 
we'll  make  an  arrangement  to  have  you  taken  care 
of." 

"I'll  have  to  lie  hid.  There's  no  doubt  about  that. 
I  made  my  jail  break  just  in  time  to  keep  from 
being  invited  as  chief  guest  to  a  necktie  party." 

"Well,  we'll  put  you  where  the  whole  United 
States  Army  couldn't  find  you." 

They  had  been  walking  across  the  field  and  now 
crawled  between  the  strands  of  fence  wire. 

"I  left  my  saddle  on  top  of  the  stack,"  the  ranger 
explained. 

"I'll  take  care  of  it.  You  better  take  cover  on 
top  of  this  ridge  till  I  get  word  to  Dillon  you're 
here.  My  wife  will  fix  you  up  some  breakfast,  and 
I'll  bring  it  out." 

"I've  ce'tainly  struck  the  good  Samaritan,"  the 
Texan  smiled. 

"Sho!  There  ain't  a  man  in  the  hills  wouldn't 
do  that  much  for  a  friend." 

"I'm  glad  I  have  so  many  friends  I  never  saw.** 

"Friends?  The  hills  are  full  of  them.  You 
took  a  hand  when  old  man  Dillon  and  his  girl  were 


A    TEXAS  RANGER 


sure  up  against  it.  Cedar  Mountain  stands  to- 
gether these  days.  What  you  did  for  them  was 
done  for  us  all,"  Speed  explained  simply. 

Fraser  waited  on  the  ridge  till  his  host  brought 
breakfast  of  bacon,  biscuits,  hard-boiled  eggs,  and 
coffee.  While  he  ate,  Speed  sat  down  on  a  bowlder 
beside  him  and  talked. 

"I  sent  my  boy  with  a  note  to  Dillon.  It's  a 
good  thirty  miles  from  here,  and  the  old  man  won't 
make  it  back  till  some  time  to-morrow.  Course, 
you're  welcome  at  the  house,  but  I  judge  it  wouldn't 
be  best  for  you  to  be  seen  there.  No  knowing  when 
some  of  Brandt's  deputies  might  butt  in  with  a  war- 
rant. You  can  slip  down  again  after  dark  and 
burrow  in  the  haystack.  Eh?  What  think? 

"I'm  in  your  hands,  but  I  don't  want  to  put  you 
and  your  friends  to  so  much  trouble.  Isn't  there 
some  mountain  trail  off  the  beaten  road  that  I  could 
take  to  Dillon's  ranch,  and  so  save  him  from  the 
trip  after  me  ?" 

Speed  grinned.  "Not  in  a  thousand  years,  my 
friend.  Dillon's  ranch  ain't  to  be  found,  except 
by  them  that  know  every  pocket  of  these  hills  like 
their  own  back  yard.  I'll  guarantee  you  couldn't 
find  it  in  a  month,  unless  you  had  a  map  locating 
it." 

"Must  be  in  that  Lost  Valley,  which  some  folks 
say  is  a  fairy  tale,"  the  ranger  said  carelessly,  but 
with  his  eyes  on  the  other. 

The  cattleman  made  no  comment.     It  occurred 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  173 

to    Fraser    that    his    remark    had    stirred    some 
suspicion  of  him.    At  least,  it  suggested  caution. 

"If  you're  through  with  your  breakfast,  I'll  take 
back  the  dishes,"  Speed  said  dryly. 

The  day  wore  to  sunset.  After  dark  had  fallen 
the  Texan  slipped  through  the  alfalfa  field  again 
1  and  bedded  in  the  stack.  Before  the  morning  was 
more  than  gray  he  returned  to  the  underbrush  of 
the  ridge.  His  breakfast  finished,  and  Speed  gone, 
he  lay  down  on  a  great  flat,  sun-dappled  rock,  and 
looked  into  the  unflecked  blue  sky.  The  season 
was  spring,  and  the  earth  seemed  fairly  palpitating* 
with  young  life.  The  low,  tireless  hum  of  insects 
went  on  all  about  him.  The  air  was  vocal  with  the 
notes  of  nesting  birds.  Away  across  the  valley  he 
could  see  a  mountain  slope,  with  snow  gulches 
glowing  pink  in  the  dawn.  Little  checkerboard 
squares  along  the  river  showed  irrigated  patches. 
In  the  pleasant  warmth  he  grew  drowsy.  His  eyes 
closed,  opened,  closed  again. 

He  was  conscious  of  no  sound  that  awakened 
him,  yet  he  was  aware  of  a  presence  that  drew  him 
from  drowsiness  to  an  alert  attention.  Instinctive- 
ly, his  hand  crept  to  his  scabbarded  weapon. 
|  "Don't  shoot  me/'  a  voice  implored  with 
laughter — a  warm,  vivid  voice,  that  struck  pleas- 
antly on  his  memory. 

The  Texan  turned  lazily,  and  leaned  on  his 
elbow.  She  came  smiling  out  of  the  brush,  light 
as  a  roe,  and  with  much  of  its  slim,  supple  grace. 


174  A    TEXAS  RANGER - 

Before,  he  had  seen  her  veiled  by  night;  the  day 
disclosed  her  a  dark,  spirited  young  creature.  The 
mass  of  blueblack  hair  coiled  at  the  nape  of  the 
brown  neck,  the  flash  of  dark  eyes  beneath  straight, 
dark  eyebrows,  together  with  a  certain  deliberation 
of  movement  that  was  not  languor,  made  it  impos- 
sible to  doubt  that  she  was  a  Southerner  by  inheri- 
tance, if  not  by  birth. 

"I  don't  reckon  I  will,"  he  greeted,  smiling. 
"Down  in  Texas  it  ain't  counted  right  £rood  man- 
ners to  shoot  up  young  ladies." 

"And  in  Wyoming  you  think  it  is." 

"I  judge  by  appearances,  ma'am." 

"Then  you  judge  wrong.  Those  men  did  not 
know  I  was  with  dad  that  night.  They  thought  I 
was  another  man.  You  see,  they  had  just  lost  their 
suit  for  damages  against  dad  and  some  more  for 
the  loss  of  six  hundred  sheep  in  a  raid  last  year. 
They  couldn't  prove  who  did  it."  She  flamed  into 
a  sudden  passion  of  resentment.  "I  don't  defend 
them  any.  They  are  a  lot  of  coyotes,  or  they 
wouldn't  have  attacked  two  men,  riding  alone." 

He  ventured  a  rapier  thrust.  "How  about  the 
Squaw  Creek  raid?  Don't  your  friends  sometimes 
forget  to  fight  fair,  too?" 

He  had  stamped  the  fire  out  of  her  in  an  instant. 
She  drooped  visibly.  "Yes — yes,  they  do,"  she 
faltered.  "I  don't  defend  them,  either.  Dad  had 
nothing  to  do  with  that.  He  doesn't  shoot  in  the 
fcack." 


A    TEXAS  RANGER 


"I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  he  retorted  cheerfully. 
*'And  I'm  glad  to  hear  that  your  friends  the  enemy 
didn't  know  it  was  a  girl  they  were  attacking.  Fact 
is,  I  thought  you  were  a  boy  myself  when  first  I 
happened  in  and  you  fanned  me  with  your  wel- 
come." 

"I  didn't  know.  I  hadn't  time  to  think.  So  I 
let  fly.  But  I  was  so  excited  I  likely  missed  you  a 
mile." 

He  took  off  his  felt  hat  and  examined  with 
interest  a  bullet  hole  through  the  rim.  "If  it  was  a 
mile,  I'd  hate  to  have  you  miss  me  a  hundred 
yards,"  he  commented,  with  a  little  ripple  of 
laughter. 

"I  didn't!  Did  I?  As  near  as  that?"  She 
caught  her  hands  together  in  a  sudden  anguish  for 
what  might  have  been. 

"Don't  you  care,  ma'am.  A  miss  is  as  good  as 
A.  mile.  It  ain't  the  first  time  I've  had  my  hat  venti- 
lated. I  mentioned  it,  so  you  wouldn't  get  dis- 
couraged at  your  shooting.  It's  plenty  good. 
Good  enough  to  suit  me.  I  wouldn't  want  it  any 
better." 

"What  about  the  man  I  wounded?"  she  asked 
apprehensively.  "Is  he  —  is  it  all  right?" 

"Haven't  you  heard?" 

"Heard  what?"  He  could  see  the  terror  in  her 
eyes. 

"How  it  all  came  out?" 

He  could  not  tell  why  he  did  it,  any  more  than 


.170  'A  ~  TEXAS  RANGER 

he  could  tell  why  he  had  attempted  no  denial  to 
the  sheriff  of  responsibility  for  the  death  of  Faulk- 
ner, but  as  he  looked  at  this  girl  he  shifted  the 
burden  from  her  shoulders  to  his.  "You  got  your 
man  in  the  ankle.  I  had  worse  luck  after  you  left. 
They  buried  mine." 

"Oh!"  From  her  lips  a  little  cry  of  pain  forced 
itself.  "It  wasn't  your  fault.  It  was  for  us  you 
did  it.  Oh,  why  did  they  attack  us?" 

"I  did  what  I  had  to  do.  There  is  no  blame  due 
either  you  or  me  for  it,"  he  said,  with  quiet  con- 
viction. 

"I  know.  But  it  seems  so  dreadful.  And  then 
they  put  you  in  jail — and  you  broke  out!  Wasn't 
that  it?" 

"That  was  the  way  of  it,  Miss  Arlie.  How  did 
you  know?" 

"Henry  Speed's  note  to  father  said  you  had 
broken  jail.  Dad  wasn't  at  home.  You  know,  the 
round-up  is  on  now  and  he  has  to  be  there.  So  I 
saddled,  and  came  right  away." 

"That  was  right  good  of  you." 

"Wasn't   it?"     There   was   a   softened,   almost 
tender,  jeer  in  her  voice.     "Since  ycu  only  saved 
our  lives!" 
.  "I  ain't  claiming  all  that,  Miss  Arlie." 

"Then  I'll  claim  it  for  you.  I  suppose  you  gave 
/our self  up  to  them  and  explained  how  it  was  after 
we  left." 


'A   TEXAS  RANGER  17? 

"Not  exactly  that.  I  managed  to  slip  away 
through  the  sage.  It  was  mo'ning  before  I  found 
the  road  again.  Soon  as  I  did,  a  deputy  tagged  me, 
and  said,  'You're  mine/  He  spoke  for  me  so 
prompt  and  seemed  so  sure  about  what  he  was  say- 
ing, I  didn't  argue  the  matter  with  him."  He 
laughed  gayly. 

"And  then?" 

"Then  he  herded  me  to  town,  and  I  was  invited 
to  be  the  county's  guest.  Not  liking  the  accommo- 
dations, I  took  the  first  chance  and  flew  the  coop. 
They  missed  a  knife  in  my  pocket  when  they 
searched  me,  and  I  chipped  the  cement  away  from 
the  window  bars,  let  myself  down  by  the  bed  linen, 
and  borrowed  a  cow-pony  I  found  saddled  at  the 
edge  of  town.  So,  you  see,  I'm  a  hawss  thief  too, 
ma'am." 

She  could  not  take  it  so  lightly  as  he  did,  even 
though  she  did  not  know  that  he  had  barely  escaped 
with  his  life.  Something  about  his  debonair, 
smiling  hardihood  touched  her  imagination,  as  did 
also  the  virile  competence  of  the  man.  If  the  cool 
eyes  in  his  weatherbeaten  face  could  be  hard  as 
agates,  they  could  also  light  up  with  sparkling  imps 
of  mischief.  Certainly  he  was  no  boy,  but  the 
close-cut  waves  of  crisp,  reddish  hair  and  the  ready 
smile  contributed  to  an  impression  of  youth  that 
came  and  went. 

"Willie  Speed  is  saddling  you  a  horse.    The  one 


-i  78  A   TEXAS  RANGER    

you  came  on  has  been  turned  loose  to  go  back 
when  it  wants  to.  I'm  going  to  take  you  home  with 
me,"  she  told  him. 

"Well,  I'm  willing  to  be  kidnapped." 
"I  brought  your  horse  Teddy.     If  you  like,  you 
may  ride  that,  and  111  take  the  other." 

"Yore  a  gentleman,  ma'am.  I  sure  would." 
When  Arlie  saw  with  what  pleasure  the  friends 
met,  how  Teddy  nickered  and  rubbed  his  nose  up 
and  down  his  master's  coat  and  how  the  Texan  put 
him  through  his  little  repertoire  of  tricks  and  fed 
him  a  lump  of  sugar  from  his  coat  pocket,  she  was 
glad  she  had  ridden  Teddy  instead  of  her  own  pony 
to  the  meeting. 

They  took  the  road  without  loss  of  time.  Arlie 
Dillon  knew  exactly  how  to  cross  this  difficult 
region.  She  knew  the  Cedar  Mountain  district  as 
a  grade  teacher  knows  her  arithmetic.  In  daylight 
or  in  darkness,  with  or  without  a  trail,  she  could 
have  traveled  almost  a  bee  line  to  the  point  she 
wanted.  Her  life  had  been  spent  largely  in  the  sad- 
dle— at  least  that  part  of  it  which  had  been  lived 
outdoors.  Wherefore  she  was  able  to  lead  her  guest 
by  secret  trails  that  wound  in  and  out  among  the 
passes  and  through  unsuspected  gorges  to  hazar- 
dous descents  possible  only  to  goats  and  cow  ponies. 
No  stranger  finding  his  way  in  would  have  stood  a 
chance  of  getting  out  again  unaided. 

Among  these  peaks  lay  hidden  pockets  and  caches 
by  hundreds,  rock  fissures  which  made  the  country 


'A   TEXAS  RANGER  179 

a  very  maze  to  the  uninitiated.  The  ranger,  himself 
one  of  the  best  trailers  in  Texas,  doubted  whether 
he  could  retrace  his  steps  to  the  Speed  place. 

After  several  hours  of  travel,  they  emerged  from 
a  gulch  to  a  little  valley  known  as  Beaver  Dam 
Park.  The  girl  pointed  out  to  her  companion  a 
narrow  brown  ribbon  that  wound  through  the  park. 

"There's  the  road  again.  That's  the  last  we  shall 
see  of  it — or  it  will  be  when  we  have  crossed  it. 
Once  we  reach  the  Twin  Buttes  that  are  the  gate- 
way to  French  Canon  you  are  perfectly  safe.  You 
can  see  the  buttes  from  here.  No,  farther  to  the 
right." 

"I  thought  I'd  ridden  some  tough  trails  in  my 
time,  but  this  country  ce'tainly  takes  the  cake," 
Fraser  said  admiringly,  as  his  gaze  swept  the  hori- 
zon. "It  puts  it  over  anything  I  ever  met  up  with. 
Ain't  that  right,  Teddy  hawss?" 

The  girl  flushed  with  pleasure  at  his  praise.  She 
was  mountain  bred,  and  she  loved  the  country  of 
the  great  peaks. 

They  descended  the  valley,  crossed  the  road,  and 
in  an  open  grassy  spot  just  beyond,  came  plump 
upon  four  men  who  had  unsaddled  to  eat  lunch. 

The  meeting  came  too  abruptly  for  Arlie  to  avoid 
it.  One  glance  told  her  that  they  were  deputies 
from  Gimlet  Butte.  Without  the  least  hesitation 
she  rode  forward  and  gave  them  the  casual  greeting 
of  cattleland.  Fraser,  riding  beside  her,  nodded 
coolly,  drew  to  a  halt,  and  lit  a  cigarette. 


i8o  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

"Found  him  yet,  gentlemen?"  he  asked. 

"No,  nor  we  ain't  likely  to,  if  he's  reached  this 
far,"  one  of  the  men  answered. 

"It  would  be  some  difficult  to  collect  him  here," 
the  Texan  admitted  impartially. 

"Among  his  friends,"  one  of  the  deputies  put  in, 
with  a  snarl. 

Fraser  laughed  easily.  "Oh,  well,  we  ain't  his 
enemies,  though  he  ain't  very  well  known  in  the 
Cedar  Mountain  country.  What  might  he  be  like, 
pardner?" 

"Hasn't  he  lived  up  here  long?"  asked  one  of  the 
men,  busy  with  some  bacon  over  a  fire. 

"They  say  not." 

"He's  a  heavy-set  fellow,  with  reddish  hair;  not 
so  tall  as  you,  I  reckon,  and  some  heavier.  Was 
wearing  chaps  and  gauntlets  when  he  made  his 
getaway.  From  the  description,  he  looks  some- 
thing like  you,  I  shouldn't  wonder." 

Fraser  congratulated  himself  that  he  had  had 
the  foresight  to  discard  as  many  as  possible  of  these 
helps  to  identification  before  he  was  three  miles 
from  Gimlet  Butte.  Now  he  laughed  pleasantly. 

"Sure  he's  heavier  than  me,  and  not  so  tall." 

"It  would  be  a  good  joke,  Bud,  if  they  took  you 
back  to  town  for  this  man,"  cut  in  Arlie,  troubled 
at  the  diicction  the  conversation  was  taking,  but 
not  obviotsly  so. 

"I  ain't  objecting  any,  sis.    About  three  days  of 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  181 

k  .      .  - 

the  joys  of  town  would  sure  agree  with  my  run- 
down system,"  the  Texan  answered  .joyously. 

"When  you  cowpunchers  do  get  in,  you  surely 
make  Rome  howl,"  one  of  the  deputies  agreed,  with 
a  grin.  "Been  in  to  the  Butte  lately?" 

The  Texan  met  his  grin.    "It  ain't  been  so  long." 

"Well,  you  ain't  liable  to  get  in  again  for  a 
while,"  Arlie  said  emphatically.  "Come  on,  Bud, 
we've  got  to  be  moving." 

"Which  way  is  Dead  Cow  Creek?"  one  of  the 
men  called  after  them. 

Fraser  pointed  in  the  direction  from  which  he 
had  just  come. 

After  they  had  ridden  a  hundred  yards,  the  girl 
laughed  aloud  her  relief  at  their  escape.  "If  they 
go  the  way  you  pointed  for  Dead  Cow  Creek,  they 
will  have  to  go  clear  round  the  world  to  get  to  it. 
We're  headed  for  the  creek  now." 

"A  fellow  can't  always  guess  right,"  pleaded  the 
Texan.  "If  he  could,  what  a  fiend  he  would  be  at 
playing  the  wheel !  Shall  I  go  back  and  tell  him  I 
misremembered  for  a  moment  where  the  creek  is  ?" 

"No,  sir.  You  had  me  scared  badly  enough 
when  you  drew  their  attention  to  yourself.  Why 
did  you  do  it?" 

"It  was  the  surest  way  to  disarm  any  suspicion 
they  might  have  had.  One  of  them  had  just  said 
the  man  they  wanted  was  like  me.  Presently,  one 
would  have  been  guessing:  that  it  was  me."  He 


182  'A    TEXAS  RANGER 

looked  at  her  drolly,  and  added :  "You  played  up  to 
me  fine,  sis." 

A  touch  of  deeper  color  beat  into  her  dusky 
cheeks.  "We'll  drop  the  relationship  right  now,  if 
you  please.  I  said  only  what  you  made  me  say/' 
she  told  him,  a  little  stiffly. 

But  presently  she  relaxed  to  the  note  of  friendli- 
ness, even  of  comradeship,  habitual  to  her.  She 
was  a  singularly  frank  creature,  having"  been 
brought  up  in  a  country  where  women  were  few 
and  far,  and  where  conventions  were  of  the  simp- 
lest. Otherwise,  she  would  not  have  confessed  to 
him  with  unconscious  naivete,  as  she  now  did,  how 
greatly  she  had  been  troubled  for  him  before  she 
received  the  note  from  Speed. 

"It  worried  me  all  the  time,  and  it  troubled  dad, 
too.  I  could  see  that.  We  had  hardly  left  you 
before  I  knew  we  had  done  wrong.  Dad  did  it 
for  me,  of  course ;  but  he  felt  mighty  bad  about  it. 
Somehow,  I  couldn't  think  of  anything  but  you 
there,  with  all  those  men  shooting  at  you.  Suppose 
you  had  waited  too  long  before  surrendering! 
Suppose  you  had  been  killed  for  us!"  She  looked 
at  him,  and  felt  a  shiver  run  over  her  in  the  warm 
sunlight.  "Night  before  last  I  was  worn  out.  I 
slept  some,  but  I  kept  dreaming  they  were  kill- 
ing you.  Oh,  you  don't  know  how  glad  I  was  to 
get  word  from  Speed  that  you  were  alive."  Her 
soft  voice  had  the  gift  of  expressing  feeling,  and 
it  was  resonant  with  it  now. 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  183 

"I'm  glad  you  were  glad,"  he  said  quietly. 

Across  Dead  Cow  Creek  they  rode,  following  the 
stream  up  French  Canon  to  what  was  known  as  the 
Narrows.  Here  the  great  rock  walls,  nearly  two 
thousand  feet  high,  came  so  close  together  as  to 
leave  barely  room  for  a  footpath  beside  the  creek 
which  boiled  down  over  great  bowlders.  Unex- 
pectedly, there  opened  in  the  wall  a  rock  fissure,  and 
through  this  Arlie  guided  her  horse. 

The  Texan  wondered  where  she  could  be  taking 
him,  for  the  fissure  terminated  in  a  great  rock  slide 
some  two  hundred  yards  ahead  of  them.  Before 
reaching  this  she  turned  sharply  to  the  left,  and  be- 
gan winding  in  and  out  among*  the  big  bowlders 
which  had  fallen  from  the  summit  far  above. 

Presently  Fraser  observed  with  astonishment 
that  they  were  following  a  path  that  crept  up  the 
very  face  of  the  bluff.  Up — up — up  they  went  until 
they  reached  a  rift  in  the  wall,  and  into  this  the 
trail  went  precipitously.  Stones  clattered  down 
from  the  hoofs  of  the  horses  as  they  clambered  up 
like  mountain  goats.  Once  the  Texan  had  to  throw 
himself  to  the  ground  to  keep  Teddy  from  falling 
backward. 

Arlie,  working  her  pony  forward  with  voice  and 
body  and  knees,  so  that  from  her  seat  in  the  saddle 
she  seemed  literally  to  lift  him  up,  reached  the  sum- 
mit and  looked  back. 

"All  right  back  there?"  she  asked  quietly. 

"All  right,"  came  the  cheerful  answer.    "Teddy 


184  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

isn't  used  to  climbing  up  a  wall,  but  he'll  make  it 
or  know  why." 

A  minute  later,  man  and  horse  were  beside  her. 

"Good  for  Teddy,"  she  said,  fondling  his  nose. 

"Look  out!  He  doesn't  like  strangers  to  handle 
him." 

"We're  not  strangers.  We're  tillicums.  Aren't 
we,  Teddy?" 

Teddy  said  "Yes"  after  the  manner  of  a  horse, 
as  plain  as  words  could  say  it. 

From  their  feet  the  trail  dropped  again  to  an- 
other gorge,  beyond  which  the  ranger  could  make 
out  a  stretch  of  valley  through  which  ran  the  gleam 
of  a  silvery  thread. 

"We're  going  down  now  into  Mantrap  Gulch. 
The  patch  of  green  you  see  beyond  is  Lost  Valley," 
she  told  him. 

"Lost  Valley,"  he  repeated,  in  amazement.  "Are 
we  going  to  Lost  Valley?" 

"You've  named  our  destination." 

"But— you  don't  live  in  Lost  Valley." 

"Don't  I?" 

"Do  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  amused  at  his  consterna- 
tion, if  it  were  that. 

"I  wish  I  had  known,"  he  said,  as  if  to  himself. 

"You  know  now.  Isn't  that  soon  enough?  Are 
you  afraid  of  the  place,  because  people  make  a 
mystery  of  it?"  she  demanded  impatiently. 

"No.     It  isn't  that."     He  looked  across  at  the 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  185 

valley  again,  and  asked  abruptly:  "Is  this  the  only 
way  in?" 

"No.    There  is  another,  but  this  is  the  quickest." 

"Is  the  other  as  difficult  as  this?" 

"In  a  way,  yes.  It  is  very  much  more  round- 
about. It  isn't  known  much  by  the  public.  Not 
many  outsiders  have  business  in  the  valley." 

She  volunteered  no  explanation  in  detail,  and  the 
man  beside  her  said,  with  a  grim  laugh : 

"There  isn't  any  general  admission  to  the  public 
this  way,  is  there?" 

"No.    Oh,  folks  can  come  if  they  want  to." 

He  looked  full  in  her  face,  and  said  significantly : 
"I  thought  the  way  to  Lost  Valley  was  a  sort  of  a 
secret — one  that  those  who  know  are  not  expected 
to  tell." 

"Oh,  that's  just  talk.  Not  many  come  in  but 
our  friends.  We've  had  to  be  careful  lately.  But 
you  can't  call  a  secret  what  a  thousand  folks  know." 

It  was  like  a  blow  in  the  face  to  him.  Not  many 
but  their  friends !  And  she  was  taking  him  in  con- 
fidently because  he  was  her  friend.  What  sort  of  a 
friend  was  he?  he  asked  himself.  He  could  not 
perform  the  task  to  which  he  was  pledged  without 
striking  home  at  her.  If  he  succeeded  in  ferreting 
out  the  Squaw  Creek  raiders  he  must  send  to  the 
penitentiary,  perhaps  to  death,  her  neighbors,  and 
possibly  her  relatives.  She  had  told  him  her  father 
was  not  implicated,  but  a  daughter's  faith  in  her 
parent  was  not  convincing  proof  of  his  innocence. 


t86  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

If  not  her  father,  a  brother  might  be  involved 
And  she  was  innocently  making  it  easy  for  him  ta 
meet  on  a  friendly  footing  these  hospitable,  unsus- 
pecting savages,  who  had  shed  human  blood  be- 
cause of  the  unleashed  passions  in  them! 

In  that  moment,  while  he  looked  away  toward 
Lost  Valley,  he  sickened  of  the  task  that  lay  before 
him.  What  would  she  think  of  him  if  she  knew? 

Arlie,  too,  had  been  looking  down  the  gulch  to- 
ward the  valley.  Now  her  gaze  came  slowly  round 
to  him  and  caught  the  expression  of  his  face. 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  cried. 

"Nothing.  Nothing  at  all.  An  old  heart  pain 
that  caught  me  suddenly." 

"I'm  sorry.  We'll  soon  be  home  now.  We'll 
travel  slowly." 

Her  voice  was  tender  with  sympathy;  so,  too, 
were  her  eyes  when  he  met  them. 

He  looked  away  again  and  groaned  in  his  heart. 


. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  WARNING  OF  MANTRAP  GULCH 

They  followed  the  trail  down  into  the  canon.  As 
the  ponies  slowly  picked  their  footing  on  the  steep 
narrow  path,  he  asked : 

"Why  do  they  call  it  Mantrap  Gulch?" 
"It  got  its  name  before  my  time  in  the  days  when 
outlaws  hid  here.  A  hunted  man  came  to  Lost 
Canon,  a  murderer  wanted  by  the  law  for  more 
crimes  than  one.  He  was  well  treated  by  the  set- 
tlers. They  gave  him  shelter  and  work.  He  was 
safe,  and  he  knew  it.  But  he  tried  to  make  his 
peace  with  the  law  outside  by  breaking  the  law  of 
the  valley.  He  knew  that  two  men  were  lying  hid 
in  a  pocket  gulch,  opening  from  the  valley — men 
who  were  wanted  for  train  robbery.  He  wrote  to 
the  company  offering  to  betray  these  men  if  they 
would  pay  him  the  reward  and  see  that  he  was  not 
punished  for  his  crimes. 

;     "It  seems  he  was  suspected.      His  letter  was  i 

opened,  and  the  exits  from  the  valley  were  both  ? 

guarded.    Knowing  he  was  discovered,  he  tried  to 

slip  out  by  the  river  way.      He  failed,  sneaked 

t  through  the  settlement  at  night,  and  slipped  into 

187 


188  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

the  canon  here.  At  this  end  of  it  he  found  armed 
men  on  guard.  He  ran  back  and  found  the  entrance 
closed.  He  was  in  a  trap.  He  tried  to  climb  one 
of  the  walls.  Do  you  see  that  point  where  the  rock 
juts  out?" 

"About  five  hundred  feet  up?    Yes." 

"He  managed  to  climb  that  high.  Nobody  ever 
knows  how  he  did  it,  but  when  morning  broke  there 
he  was,  like  a  fly  on  a  wall.  His  hunters  came 
and  saw  him.  I  suppose  he  could  hear  them  laugh- 
ing as  their  voices  came  echoing  up  to  him.  They 
shot  above  him,  below  him,  on  either  side  of  him. 
He  knew  they  were  playing  with  him,  and  that 
they  would  finish  him  when  they  got  ready. 
He  must  have  been  half  crazy  with  fear.  Anyhow, 
he  lost  his  hold  and  fell.  He  was  dead  before  they 
reached  him.  From  that  day  this  has  been  called 
Mantrap  Gulch." 

The  ranger  looked  up  at  the  frowning  walls 
which  shut  out  the  sunlight.  His  imagination 
pictured  tHe  drama — the  hunted  man's  wild  flight 
up  the  gulch;  his  dreadful  discovery  that  it  was 
closed ;  his  desperate  attempt  to  climb  by  moonlight 
the  impossible  cliff,  and  the  tragedy  that  overtook 
him. 

The  girl  spoke  again  softly,  almost  as  if  she  were 
in  the  presence  of  that  far-off  Nemesis.  "I  suppose 
he  deserved  it.  It's  an  awful  thing  to  be  a  traitor ; 
to  sell  the  people  who  have  befriended  you.  We 
can't  put  ourselves  in  his  place  and  know  why  he 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  189 

'did  it.  All  we  can  say  is  that  we're  glad — glad  that 
we  have  never  known  men  who  do  such  things.  Do 
you  think  people  always  felt  a  sort  of  shrinking 
when  they  were  near  him,  or  did  he  seem  just  like 
other  men?" 

Glancing  at  the  man  who  rode  beside  her,  she 
cried  out  at  the  stricken  look  on  his  face.  "It's  your 
heart  again.  You're  worn  out  with  anxiety  and 
privations.  I  should  have  remembered  and  come 
slower,"  she  reproached  herself. 

"I'm  all  right — now.  It  passes  in  a  moment,"  he 
said  hoarsely. 

But  she  had  already  slipped  from  the  saddle  and 
was  at  his  bridle  rein.  "No — no.  You  must  get 
down.  We  have  plenty  of  time.  We'll  rest  here 
till  you  "are  better." 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  obey.  He  dis- 
mounted, feeling  himself  a  humbug  and  a  scoun- 
drel. He  sat  down  on  a  mossy  rock,  his  back 
against  another,  while  she  trailed  the  reins  and 
joined  him. 

"You  are  better  now,  aren't  you?"  she  asked,  as 
she  seated  herself  on  an  adjacent  bowlder. 

Gruffly  he  answered :  "I'm  all  right." 
I  She  thought  she  understood.  Men  do  not  like  to 
be  coddled.  She  began  to  talk  cheerfully  of  the 
first  thing  that  came  into  her  head.  He  made  the 
necessary  monosyllabic  responses  when  her  speech 
put  it  up  to  him,  but  she  saw  that  his  mind  was 
brooding  over  something  else.  Once  she  saw  his 


I9Q  A    TEXAS   RANGER ' 

gaze  go  up  to  the  point  on  the  cliff  reached  by  the 
fugitive. 

But  it  was  not  until  they  were  again  in  the  saddle 
that  he  spoke. 

"Yes,  he  got  what  was  coming  to  him.  He  had 
no  right  to  complain." 

"That's  what  my  father  says.  I  don't  deny  the 
justice  of  it,  but  whenever  I  think  of  it,  I  feel  sorry 
for  him." 

"Why?" 

Despite  the  quietness  of  the  monosyllable,  sic 
divined  an  eager  interest  back  of  his  question. 

"He  must  have  suffered  so.  He  wasn't  a  brave 
man,  they  say.  And  he  was  one  against  many. 
They  didn't  hunt  him.  They  just  closed  the  trap 
and  let  him  wear  himself  out  trying  to  get  through. 
Think  of  that  awful  week  of  hunger  and  exposure 
in  the  hills  before  the  end !" 

"It  must  have  been  pretty  bad,  especially  if  he 
wasn't  a  game  man.  But  he  had  no  legitimate  kick 
coming.  He  took  his  chance  and  lost.  It  was  up 
to  him  to  pay." 

"His  name  was  David  Burke.  When  he  was  a 
little  boy  I  suppose  his  mother  used  to  call  him 
Davy.  He  wasn't  bad  then;  just  a  little  boy  to  be 
cuddled  and  petted.  Perhaps  he  was  married.  Per- 
haps he  had  a  sweetheart  waiting  for  him  outside, 
and  praying  for  him.  And  they  snuffed  his  life  out 
as  if  he  had  been  a  rattlesnake." 

"Because  he  was  a  miscreant  and  it  was  best  he 


A    TEXAS  RANGER 191 

shouldn't  live.  Yes,  they  did  right.  I  would  have 
helped  do  it  in  their  place." 

"My  father  did,"  she  sighed. 

They  did  not  speak  again  until  they  had  passed 
from  between  the  chill  walls  to  the  warm  sunshine 
of  the  valley  beyond.  Among  the  rocks  above  the 
trail,  she  glimpsed  some  early  anemones  blossom- 
ing bravely. 

She  drew  up  with  a  little  cry  of  pleasure. 
"They're  the  first  I  have  seen.  I  must  have  them." 

Fraser  swung  from  the  saddle,  but  he  was  not 
quick  enough.  She  reached  them  before  he  did, 
and  after  they  had  gathered  them  she  insisted  upon 
sitting  down  again. 

He  had  his  suspicions,  and  voiced  them.  "I 
believe  you  got  me  off  just  to  make  me  sit  down." 

She  laughed  with  deep  delight.  "I  didn't,  but 
since  we  are  here  we  shall."  And  she  ended  debate 
by  sitting  down  tailor-fashion,  and  beginning  to  ar- 
range her  little  bouquet. 

A  meadow  lark,  troubadour  of  spring,  trilled 
joyously  somewhere  in  the  pines  above.  The  man 
looked  up,  then  down  at  the  vivid  creature  busy 
with  her  flowers  at  his  feet.  There  was  kinship 
between  the  two.  She,  too,  was  athrob  with  the 
joy  note  of  spring. 

"You're  to  sit  down,"  she  ordered,  without  look- 
ing up  from  the  sheaf  of  anemone  blossoms  she 
was  arranging. 

He  sank  down  beside  her,  aware  vaguely  ol 
something  new  and  poignant  in  his  life. 


CHAPTER  V 

JED  BRISCOE  TAKES  A  HAND 

Suddenly  a  footfall,  and  a  voice : 

"Hello,  Arlie!  I  been  looking  for  you  every*- 
where." 

The  Texan's  gaze  took  in.  a  slim  dark  man,  good- 
looking  after  a  fashion,  but  with  dissipation  writ- 
ten on  the  rather  sullen  face. 

"Well,  you've  found  me,"  the  girl  answered 
coolly. 

"Yes,  I've  found  you,"  the 'man  answered,  with 
a  steady,  watchful  eye  on  the  Texan. 

Miss  Dillon  was  embarrassed  at  this  plain  hos- 
tility, but  indignation  too  sparkled  in  her  eye, 
"Anything  in  particular  you  want  ?" 

The  newcomer  ignored  her  question.  His  hard 
gaze  challenged  the  Southerner;  did  more  than 
challenge — weighed  and  condemned. 

But  this  young  woman  was  not  used  to  being 
ignored.  Her  voice  took  on  an  edge  of  sharpness. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  Jed?" 

"Who's  your  friend  ?"  the  man  demanded  bluntly, 
insolently. 

Arlie's  flush  showed  the  swift,  upblazing  resent- 
192 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  193 

aient  she  immediately  controlled.  "Mr.  Fraser — 
just  arrived  from  Texas.  Mr.  Fraser,  let  me  in- 
troduce to  you  Mr.  Briscoe." 

The  Texan  stepped  forward  to  offer  his  hand, 
but  Briscoe  deliberately  put  both  of  his  behind 
him. 

"Might  I  ask  what  Mr.  Fraser,  just  arrived  from 
Texas,  is  doing  here?"  the  young  man  drawled, 
contriving  to  make  an  insult  of  every  syllable. 

The  girl's  eyes  flashed  dangerously.  "He  is  here 
as  my  guest." 

"Oh,  as  your  guest!" 

"Doesn't  it  please  you,  Jed?" 

"Have  I  said  it  didn't  please  me?"  he  retorted 
smoothly. 

"Your  looks  say  it." 

He  let  out  a  sudden  furious  oath.  "Then  my  looks 
don't  lie  any." 

Fraser  was  stepping  forward,  but  with  a  gesture 
Arlie  held  him  back.  This  was  her  battle,  not  his. 

"What  have  you  got  to  say  about  it?"  she  de- 
manded. 

"You  had  no  right  to  bring  him  here.  Who  is 
he  anyhow?" 

"I  think  that  is  his  business,  and  mine." 

"I  make  it  mine,"  he  declared  hotly.  "I've  heard 
about  this  fellow  from  your  father.  You  met  up 
with  him  on  the  trail.  He  says  his  name  is  Fraser. 
You  don't  even  know  whether  that  is  true.  He 
may  be  a  spy.  How  do  you  know  he  ain't?" 


194  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

"How  do  I  know  you  aren't?"  she  countered 
swiftly. 

"You've  known  me  all  my  life.  Did  you  ever 
see  him  before?" 

"Never." 

"Well,  then!" 

"He  risked  his  life  to  save  ours." 

"Risked  nothing !    It  was  a  trick,  I  tell  you." 

"It  makes  no  difference  to  me  what  you  tell  me. 
Your  opinion  can't  affect  mine." 

"You  know  the  feeling  of  the  valley  just  now 
about  strangers,"  said  Briscoe  sullenly. 

"It  depends  on  who  the  stranger  is." 

"Well,  I  object  to  this  one." 

"So  it  seems;  but  I  don't  know  any  law  that 
makes  me  do  whatever  you  want  me  to."  Her 
voice,  low  and  clear,  cut  like  a  whiplash. 

Beneath  the  dust  of  travel  the  young  man's  face 
burned  with  anger.  "We're  not  discussing  that 
just  now.  What  I  say  is  that  you  had  no  right  to 
bring  him  here — not  now,  especially.  You  know 
why,"  he  added,  almost  in  a  whisper. 

"If  you  had  waited  and  not  attempted  to  brow- 
beat me,  I  would  have  shown  you  that  that  is  the 
very  reason  I  had  to  bring  him." 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"Never  mind  what  I  mean.  You  have  insulted 
my  friend,  and  through  him,  me.  That  is  enough 
for  one  day."  She  turned  from  him  haughtily 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  195 

and  spoke  to  the  Texan.  "If  you  are  ready,  Mr. 
Fraser,  we'll  be  going  now." 

The  ranger,  whose  fingers  had  been  itching  to  get 
at  the  throat  of  this  insolent  young  man,  turned 
without  a  word  and  obediently  brought  the  girl's 
pony,  then  helped  her  to  mount.  Briscoe  glared,  in 
a  silent  tempest  of  passion. 

"I  think  I  have  left  a  glove  and  my  anemones 
where  we  were  sitting,"  the  girl  said  sweetly  to  the 
Texan. 

Fraser  found  them,  tightened  the  saddle  girth, 
and  mounted  Teddy.  As  they  cantered  away,  Arlie 
called  to  him  to  look  at  the  sunset  behind  the 
mountains. 

From  the  moment  of  her  dismissal  of  Briscoe 
the  girl  had  apparently  put  him  out  of  her  thoughts. 
No  fine  lady  of  the  courts  could  have  done  it  with 
more  disdainful  ease.  And  the  Texan,  following 
her  lead,  played  his  part  in  the  little  comedy,  ig- 
noring the  other  man  as  completely  as  she  did. 

The  young  cattleman,  furious,  his  teeth  set  in 
impotent  rage,  watched  it  all  with  the  lust  to  kill 
in  his  heart.  When  they  had  gone,  he  flung  him- 
self into  the  saddle  and  rode  away  in  a  tumultuous 
fury. 

Before  they  had  covered  two  hundred  yards 
Arlie  turned  to  her  companion,  all  contrition. 
"There!  I've  done  it  again.  My  fits  of  passion 
are  always  getting  me  into  trouble.  This  time  one 


ig6  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

of  them  has  given  you  an  enemy,  and  a  bad  cme, 
too." 

"No.  He  would  have  been  my  enemy  no  matter 
what  you  said.  Soon  as  he  put  his  eyes  on  me,  I 
knew  it." 

"Because  I  brought  you  here,  you  mean?" 

"I  don't  mean  only  that.  Some  folks  are  born 
to  be  enemies,  just  as  some  are  born  to  be  friends. 
They've  only  got  to  look  in  each  other's  eyes  once 
to  know  it." 

"That's  strange.  I  never  heard  anybody  else  say 
that.  Do  you  really  mean  it  ?" 

"Yes." 

"And  did  you  ever  have  such  an  enemy  before? 
Don't  answer  me  if  I  oughtn't  to  ask  that."  she 
added  quickly. 

"Yes." 

"Where?" 

"In  Texas.    Why,  here  we  are  at  a  ranch!" 

"Yes.  It's  ours,  and  yours  as  long  as  you  want 
to  stay.  Did  you  feel  that  you  were  enemies  the 
moment  you  saw  this  man  in  Texas  ?" 

"I  knew  we  were  going  to  have  trouble  as  soon 
as  we  looked  at  each  other.  I  had  no  feeling 
toward  him,  but  he  had  toward  me." 

"And  did  you  have  trouble?" 

"Some,  before  I  landed  him.  The  way  it  turned 
out  he  had  most  of  it." 

She  glanced  quickly  at  him.  "What  do  you 
mean  by  landed'?" 


A   TEXAS 'RANGER  197 

"I  am  an  officer  in  the  Texas  Rangers." 

"What  are  they?  Something  like  our  forest 
rangers  ?" 

"No.  The  duty  of  a  Texas  Ranger  is  to  enforce 
the  law  against  desperadoes.  We  prevent  crime  if 
we  can.  When  we  can/t  do  that,  we  hunt  down  the 
criminals." 

Arlie  looked  at  him  in  a  startled  silence. 

"You  are  an  officer  of  the  law — a  sort  of 
sheriff?"  she  said,  at  last. 

"Yes,  in  Texas.  This  is  Wyoming."  He  made 
his  distinction,  knowing  it  was  a  false  one.  Some- 
how he  had  the  feeling  of  a  whipped  cur. 

"I  wish  I  had  known.  If  you  had  only  told  me 
earlier,"  she  said,  so  low  as  to  be  almost  a 
whisper. 

"I'm  sorry.  If  you  like,  I'll  gio  away  again,"  he 
offered. 

"No,  no.  I'm  only  thinking  that  it  gives  Jed  a 
hold,  gives  him  something  to  stir  up  his  friends 
with,  you  know.  That  is,  it  would  if  he  knew. 
He  mustn't  find  out.5" 

"Be  frank.  Don't  make  any  secret  of  it.  That's 
the  best  way,"  he  advised. 

She  shook  her  head.  "You  don't  know  Jed's 
crowd.  They'd  be  suspicious  of  any  officer,  no  mat- 
ter where  he  came  from." 

"Far  as  I  can  make  out,  that  young  man  is  going1 
to  be  loaded  with  suspicions  of  me  anyhow,"  he 
laughed. 


198  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

"It  isn't  anything  to  laugh  at.  You  don't  know 
him,"  she  told  him  gravely. 

"And  can't  say  I'm  suffering  to,"  he  drawled. 
'    She  looked  at  him  a  little  impatiently,  as  if  he 
were  a  child  playing  with  gunpowder  and  unaware 
of  its  potentialities. 

"Can't  you  understand?  You're  not  in  Texas 
with  your  friends  all  around  you.  This  is  Lost 
Valley — and  Lost  Valley  isn't  on  the  map.  Men 
make  their  own  law  here.  That  is,  some  of  them 
do.  I  wouldn't  give  a  snap  of  my  fingers  for  your 
life  if  the  impression  spread  that  you  are  a  spy.  It 
doesn't  matter  that  I  know  you're  not.  Others  must 
feel  it,  too." 

"I  see.  And  Mr.  Briscoe  will  be  a  molder  of 
public  opinion?" 

"So  far  as  he  can  he  will.  We  must  forestall 
him." 

"Beat  him  to  it,  and  give  me  a  clean  bill  of  moral 
health,  eh?" 

She  frowned.  "This  is  serious  business,  my 
friend." 

"I'm  taking  it  that  way,"  he  said  smilingly. 

"I  shouldn't  have  guessed  it." 

Yet  for  all  his  debonair  ease  the  man  had  an  air 
of  quiet  competence.  His  strong,  bronzed  face  and 
neck,  the  set  of  his  shoulders,  the  light  poise  of  him 
in  the  saddle,  the  steady  confidence  of  the  gray 
eyes,  all  told  her  as  much.  She  was  aware  of  a 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  199 

curiosity  about  what  was  hidden  behind  that  stone- 
wall face  of  his. 

"You  didn't  finish  telling  me  about  that  enemy 
in  Texas,"  she  suggested  suddenly. 

"Oh,  there  ain't  much  to  tell.  He  broke  out  from 
the  pen,  where  I  had  put  him  when  I  was  a  kid. 
He  was  a  desperado  wanted  by  the  authorities,  so 
I  arrested  him  again." 

"Sounds  easy." 

"He  made  some  trouble,  shot  up  two  or  three 
men  first."  Fraser  lifted  his  hand  absently. 

"Is  that  scar  on  your  hand  where  he  shot  you?" 
Arlie  asked. 

He  looked  up  in  quick  surprise.  "Now,  how 
did  you  know  that?" 

"You  were  talking  of  the  trouble  he  made  and 
you  looked  at  your  hand,"  she  explained.  "Where 
is  he  now  ?  In  the  penitentiary  ?" 

"No.     He  broke  away  before  I  got  him  there." 

She  had  another  flash  of  inspiration.  "And  you 
came  to  Wyoming  to  get  him  again." 

"Good  gracious,  ma'am,  but  you're  ce'tainly  a 
wizard!  That's  why  I  came,  though  it's  a  secret." 

"What  is  he  wanted  for?" 

"Robbing  a  train,  three  murders  and  a  few  other 
things." 

As  she  swung  from  her  pony  in  front  of  the  old- 
fashioned  Southern  log  house,  Arlie  laughed  at  him 
over  her  shoulder. 


200  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

-  "You're  a  fine  officer!  Tell  all  you  know  to  the 
first  girl  you  meet!" 

"Well,  you  see,  the  girl  happened  to  be — you!" 

After  the  manner  of  the  old-fashioned  Southern 
house  a  wide  "gallery"  bisected  it  from  porch  to 
rear.  Saddles  hung  from  pegs  in  the  gallery. 
Horse  blankets  and  bridles,  spurs  and  saddlebags, 
lay  here  and  there  in  disarray.  A  disjointed  rifle 
which  some  one  had  started  to  clean  was  on  the 
porch.  Swiftly  Arlie  stripped  saddle,  bridle,  and 
blanket  from  her  pony  and  flung  them  down  as  a 
contribution  to  the  general  disorder,  and  at  her 
suggestion  Fraser  did  the  same.  A  half-grown  lad 
came  running  to  herd  the  horses  into  a  corral  close 
at  hand. 

"I  want  you  when  you've  finished  feeding,  Bob- 
bie," Arlie  told  the  lad.  Then  briefly  to  her  guest : 
"This  way,  please." 

She  led  him  into  a  large,  cheerful  living  room, 
into  which,  through  big  casement  windows,  the 
light  streamed.  It  was  a  pleasant  room,  despite  its 
barbaric  touch.  There  was  a  grizzly  bear  skin  be- 
fore the  great  open,  stone  fireplace,  and  Navajo 
rugs  covered  the  floor  and  hung  on  the  walls.  The 
skin  of  a  silver-tip  bear  was  stretched  beneath  a 
writing  desk,  a  trophy  of  Arlie* s  rifle,  which  hung 
in  a  rack  above.  Civilization  had  furnished  its 
quota  to  the  room  in  a  piano,  some  books,  and  a 
few  photographs. 

The  Texan  observed  that  order  reigned  here, 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  201 

even  though  it  did  not  interfere  with  the  large  effect 
of  comfort. 

The  girl  left  him,  to  return  presently  with  her 
aunt,  to  whom  she  introduced  him.  Miss  Ruth 
Dillon  was  a  little,  bright-eyed  old  lady,  whose  hair 
was  still  black,  and  her  step  light.  Evidently  she 
had  her  instructions,  for  she  greeted  their  guest 
with  charming  cordiality,  and  thanked  him  for  the 
service  he  had  rendered  her  brother  and  her  niece. 

Presently  the  boy  Bobbie  arrived  for  further 
orders.  Arlie  went  to  her  desk  and  wrote  hur- 
riedly. 

"You're  to  give  this  note  to  my  father,"  she  di- 
rected. "Be  sure  he  gets  it  himself.  You  ought 
to  find  him  down  in  Jackson's  Pocket,  if  the  drive 
is  from  Round  Top  to-day.  But  you  can  ask  about 
that  along  the  road." 

When  the  boy  had  gone,  Arlie  turned  to  Eraser. 

"I  want  to  tell  father  you're  here  before  Jed 
gets  to  him  with  his  story,"  she  explained.  "I've 
asked  him  to  ride  down  right  away.  He'll  probably 
come  in  a  few  hours  and  spend  the  night  here." 

After  they  had  eaten  supper  they  returned  to  the 
living  room,  where  a  great  fire,  built  by  Jim  the 
negro  horse  wrangler,  was  roaring  up  the  chimney. 

It  was  almost  eleven  o'clock  when  horses  gal- 
loped up  and  Dillon  came  into  the  house,  followed 
by  Jed  Briscoe.  The  latter  looked  triumphant,  the 
former  embarrassed  as  he  disgorged  letters  and 
newspapers  from  his  pocket. 


202  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

"I  stopped  at  the  office  to  get  the  mail  as  I  came 
down.  Here's  yore  paper,  Ruth." 

Miss  Dillon  pounced  eagerly  upon  the  Gimlet 
iButte  Avalanche,  and  disappeared  with  it  to  her 
bedroom.  She  had  formerly  lived  in  Gimlet  Butte, 
and  was  still  keenly  interested  in  the  gossip  of  the 
town. 

Briscoe  had  scored  one  against  Arlie  by  meeting 
her  father,  telling  his  side  of  the  story,  and  return- 
ing with  him  to  the  house.  Nevertheless  Arlie, 
after  giving  him  the  slightest  nod  her  duty  as 
hostess  would  permit,  made  her  frontal  attack 
without  hesitation. 

"You'll  be  glad  to  know,  dad,  that  Mr.  Fraser  is 
our  guest.  He  has  had  rather  a  stormy  time  since 
we  saw  him  last,  and  he  has  consented  to  stay  with 
us  a  few  days  till  things  blow  over." 

Dillon,  very  ill  at  ease,  shook  hands  with  the 
Texan,  and  was  understood  to  say  that  he  was  glad 
to  see  him. 

"Then  you  don't  look  it,  dad,"  Arlie  told  him, 
with  a  gleam  of  vexed  laughter. 

Her  father  turned  reproachfully  upon  her. 
"Now,  honey,  yo'  done  wrong  to  say  that  Yo* 
know  Mr.  Fraser  is  welcome  to  stay  in  my  house 
long  as  he  wants.  I'm  proud  to  have  him  stay. 
Do  you  think  I  forgot  already  what  he  done  for 
us?" 

"Of  course  not.    Then  it's  all  settled,"  Arlie  cut 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  203 

in,  and  rushed  on  to  another  subject.  "How's  the 
round-up  coming,  dad?" 

"We'll  talk  about  the  round-up  later.  What  I'm 
saying  is  that  Mr.  Fraser  has  only  got  to  say  the 
word,  and  I'm  there  to  he'p  him  till  the  cows  come 
home." 

"That's  just  what  I  told  him,  dad." 

"Hold  yore  hawsses,  will  yo',  honey?  But,  not- 
withstanding which,  and  not  backing  water  on  that 
proposition  none,  we  come  to  another  p'int." 

"Which  Jed  made  to  you  carefully  on  the  way 
down,"  his  daughter  interrupted  scornfully. 

"It  don't  matter  who  made  it.  The  p'int  is  that 
there  are  reasons  why  strangers  ain't  exactly  wel- 
come in  this  valley  right  now,  Mr.  Fraser.  This 
country  is  full  o'  suspicion.  Whilst  it's  on  just, 
charges  are  being  made  against  us  on  the  outside. 
Right  now  the  settlers  here  have  got  to  guard 
against  furriners.  Now  I  know  yo're  all  right,  Mr. 
Fraser.  But  my  neighbors  don't  know  it." 

"It  was  our  lives  he  saved,  not  our  neighbors'," 
scoffed  Arlie. 

"K'rect.  So  I  say,  Mr.  Fraser,  if  yo'  are  out  o' 
funds,  I'll  finance  you.  Wherever  you  want  to  go 
I'll  see  you  git  there,  but  I  hain't  got  the  right  to 
invite  you  to  stay  in  Lost  Valley." 

"Better  send  him  to  Gimlet  Butte,  dad !  He  killed 
a  man  in  helping  us  to  escape,  and  he's  wanted  bad ! 
He  broke  jail  to  get  here !  Pay  his  expenses  back 


204  'A    TEXAS  RANGER 

to  the  Butte!  Then  if  there's  a  reward,  you  and 
Jed  can  divide  it!"  his  daughter  jeered. 

"What's  that?    Killed  a  man,  yo'  say?" 

"Yes.  To  save  us.  Shall  we  send  him  back 
under  a  rifle  guard?  Or  shall  we  have  Sheriff 
Brandt  come  and  get  him?" 

"Gracious  goodness,  gyurl,  shet  up  whilst  I  think. 
Killed  a  man,  eh?  This  valley  has  always  been 
open  to  fugitives.  Ain't  that  right,  Jed?" 

"To  fugitives,  yes,"  said  Jed  significantly.  "But 
that  fact  ain't  proved." 

"Jed's  getting  right  important.  We'll  soon  be 
asking  him  whether  we  can  stay  here,"  said  Arlie, 
with  a  scornful  laugh.  "And  I  say  it  is  proved. 
We  met  the  deputies  the  yon  side  of  the  big  canon." 

Briscoe  looked  at  her  out  of  dogged,  half-shut- 
tered eyes.  He  said  nothing,  but  he  looked  the 
picture  of  malice. 

Dillon  rasped  his  stubbly  chin  and  looked  at  the 
Texan.  Far  from  an  alert-minded  man,  he  came  to 
conclusions  slowly.  Now  he  arrived  at  one. 

"Dad  burn  it,  we'll  take  the  'fugitive*  for  granted, 
Yo'  kin  lie  up  here  long  as  yo'  like,  friend.  I'll 
guarantee  yo'  to  my  neighbors.  I  reckon  if  they 
don't  like  it  they  kin  lump  it.  I  ain't  a-going  to 
give  up  the  man  that  saved  my  gyurl's  life." 

The  door  opened  and  let  in  Miss  Ruth  Dillon. 
The  little  old  lady  had  the  newspaper  in  her  hand, 
and  her  beady  eyes  were  shining  with  excitement. 

"It's  all  in  here,  Mr.  Eraser — about  your  capture 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  205 

and  escape.  But  you  didn't  tell  us  all  of  it.  Per- 
haps you  didn't  know,  though,  that  they  had  plan? 
to  storm  the  jail  and  hang  you?" 

"Yes,  I  knew  that,"  the  Texan  answered  coolly. 
"The  jailer  told  me  what  was  coming  to  me.  I 
decided  not  to  wait  and  see  whether  he  was  lying. 
I  wrenched  a  bar  from  the  window,  lowered  my-- 
self  by  my  bedding,  flew  the  coop,  and  borrowed  a 
horse.  That's  the  whole  story,  ma'am,  except  that 
Miss  Arlie  brought  me  here  to  hide  me." 

"Read  aloud  what  the  paper  says,"  Dillon  or- 
dered. 

His  sister  handed  the  Avalanche  to  her  niece. 
Arlie  found  the  article  and  began  to  read : 

"A  dastardly  outrage  occurred  three  miles  from  Gim* 
let  6utte  last  night.  While  on  their  way  home  from 
the  trial  of  the  well-known  Three  Pines  sheep  raid  case, 
a  small  party  of  citizens  were  attacked  by  miscreants 
presumed  to  be  from  the  Cedar  Mountain  country. 
How  many  of  these  there  were  we  have  no  means  of 
knowing,  as  the  culprits  disappeared  in  the  mountains 
after  murdering  William  Faulkner,  a  well-known  sheep 
man,  and  wounding  Tom  Long." 

There  followed  a  lurid  account  of  the  battle, 
written  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  other  side. 
After  which  the  editor  paid  his  respects  to  Fraser, 
though  not  by  name. 

"One  of  the  ruffians,  for  some  unknown  reason — 
perhaps  in  the  hope  of  getting  a  chance  to  slay  another 
victim — remained  too  long  near  the  scene  of  the  atroc- 


2o6  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

ity  and  was  apprehended  early  this  morning  by  that 
fearless  deputy,  James  Schilling.  He  refused  to  give 
his  name  or  any  other  information  about  himself. 
While  the  man  is  a  stranger  to  Gimlet  Butte,  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  he  is  one  of  the  Lost  Valley  des- 
peradoes implicated  in  the  Squaw  Creek  raid  some 
months  ago.  Since  the  bullet  that  killed  Faulkner  was 
probably  fired  from  the  rifle  carried  by  this  man,  it  is 
safe  to  assume  that  the  actual  murderer  was  appre- 
hended. The  man  is  above  medium  height,  well  built 
and  muscular,  and  carries  all  the  earmarks  of  a  des- 
perate character." 

Arlie  glanced  up  from  her  reading  to  smile  at 
Fraser.  "Dad  and  I  are  miscreants,  and  you  are 
a  ruffian  and  a  desperate  character,"  she  told  him 
gayly. 

"Go  on,  honey,"  her  father  urged. 

The  account  told  how  the  prisoner  had  been 
confined  in  the  jail,  and  how  the  citizens,  wrought 
up  by  the  continued  lawlessness  of  the  Lost  Valley 
district,  had  quietly  gathered  to  make  an  example 
of  the  captured  man.  While  condemning  lynching 
in  general,  the  Avalanche  wanted  to  go  on  record 
as  saying  that  if  ever  it  was  justifiable  this  was  the 
occasion.  Unfortunately,  the  prisoner,  giving  thus 
further  evidence  of  his  desperate  nature,  had  cut 
his  way  out  of  prison  with  a  pocketknife  and  es- 
caped from  town  by  means  of  a  horse  he  found  sad- 
dled and  did  not  hesitate  to  steal.  At  the  time  of 
going  to  press  he  had  not  yet  been  recaptured, 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  207 

though  Sheriff  Brandt  had  several  posses  on  his 
trail.  The  outlaw  had  cut  the  telephone  wires,  but 
it  was  confidently  believed  he  would  be  captured 
before  he  reached  his  friends  in  the  mountains. 

Arlie's  eyes  were  shining.  She  looked  at  Bris- 
coe  and  handed  him  the  paper  triumphantly.  This 
was  her  vindication  for  bringing  the  hunted  man 
to  Lost  Valley.  He  had  been  fighting  their  battles 
and  had  almost  lost  his  life  in  doing  it.  Jed  might 
say  what  he  liked  while  she  had  this  to  refute  him. 

"I  guess  that  editor  doesn't  believe  so  confidently 
as  he  pretends,"  she  said.  "Anyhow,  he  has  guessed 
wrong.  Mr.  Fraser  has  reached  his  friends,  and 
they'll  look  out  for  him." 

Her  father  came  to  her  support  radiantly.  "You 
bet  yore  boots  they  will,  honey.  Shake  hands  on 
it,  Mr.  Fraser.  I  reckon  yore  satisfied  too,  Jed. 
Eh,  boy?" 

Briscoe  viewed  the  scene  with  cynical  malice. 
"Quite  a  hero,  ain't  he?  If  you  want  to  know,  I 
stand  pat.  Mr.  Fraser  from  Texas  don't  draw  the 
wool  over  my  eyes  none.  Right  now  I  serve  notice 
to  that  effect.  Meantime,  since  I  don't  aim  to  join 
the  happy  circle  of  his  admirers,  I  reckon  I'll  duck." 

He  nodded  impudently  at  Arlie,  turned  on  his 
heel,  and  went  trailing  off  with  jingling  spur.  They 
heard  him  cursing  at  his  horse  as  he  mounted.  The 
cruel  swigh  of  a  quirt  came  to  them,  after  which 
the  swift  pounding  of  a  horse's  hoofs.  The  cow 
pony  had  found  its  gallop  in  a  stride. 


2o8  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

The  Texan  laughed  lightly.  "Exit  Mr.  Briscoe, 
some  disappointed,"  he  murmured. 

He  noticed  that  none  of  the  others  shared  his 
mirth. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A   SURE   ENOUGH   WOLF 

Briscoe  did  not  return  at  once  to  the  scene  of 
the  round-up.  He  followed  the  trail  toward  Jack- 
son's Pocket,  but  diverged  after  he  had  gone  a  few 
miles  and  turned  into  one  of  the  hundred  blind 
gulches  that  ran  out  from  the  valley  to  the  impas- 
sable mountain  wall  behind.  It  was  known  as  Jack 
Rabbit  Run,  because  its  labyrinthine  trails  offered 
a  retreat  into  which  hunted  men  might  always  dive 
for  safety.  Nobody  knew  its  recesses  better  than 
Jed  Briscoe,  who  was  acknowledged  to  be  the  leader 
of  that  faction  in  the  valley  which  had  brought  it 
the  bad  name  it  held. 

Long  before  Jed's  time  there  had  been  such  a 
faction,  then  the  dominant  one  of  the  place,  now 
steadily  losing  ground  as  civilization  seeped  in,  but 
still  strong  because  bound  by  ties  of  kindred  and 
of  interest  to  the  honest  law-abiding  majority.  Of 
it  were  the  outlaws  who  came  periodically  to  find 
shelter  here,  the  hasty  men  who  had  struck  in 
heat  and  found  it  necessary  to  get  beyond  the  law's 
reach  for  a  time,  and  reckless  cowpunchers,  who 
foregathered  with  these,  because  they  were  birds 

209 


2io  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

of  a  feather.  To  all  such,  Jack  Rabbit  Run  was  a 
haven  of  rest. 

By  devious  paths  the  cattleman  guided  his  horse 
until  he  came  to  a  kind  of  pouch,  guarded  by  a 
thick  growth  of  aspens.  The  front  of  these  he 
skirted,  plunged  into  them  at  the  farther  edge,  and 
followed  a  narrow  trail  which  wound  among  them 
till  the  grove  opened  upon  a  saucer-shaped  valley 
in  which  nestled  a  little  log  cabin.  Lights  gleamed 
from  the  windows  hospitably  and  suggested  the 
comfortable  warmth  of  a  log  fire  and  good-fellow- 
ship. So  many  a  hunted  man  had  thought  as  he 
emerged  from  that  grove  to  look  down  upon  the 
valley  nestling  at  his  feet. 

Jed  turned  his  horse  into  a  corral  back  of  the 
house,  let  out  the  hoot  of  an  owl  as  he  fed  and 
watered,  and  returning  to  the  cabin,  gave  the  four 
knocks  that  were  the  signal  for  admission. 

Bolts  were  promptly  withdrawn  and  the  door 
thrown  open  by  a  slender,  fair-haired  fellow,  whose 
features  looked  as  if  they  had  been  roughed  out 
and  not  finished.  He  grinned  amiably  at  the  new- 
comer and  greeted  him  with:  "Hello,  Jed." 

"Hello,  Tommie,"  returned  Briscoe,  carelessly, 
and  let  his  glance  pass  to  the  three  men  seated  at  the 
table  with  cards  and  poker  chips  in  front  of  them. 

The  man  facing  Briscoe  was  a  big,  heavy-set,  un- 
mistakable ruffian  with  long,  drooping,  red  mus- 
tache, and  villainous,  fishy  eyes.  It  was  observable 
that  the  trigger  finger  of  his  right  hand  was  miss- 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  211 

ing.  Also,  there  was  a  nasty  scar  on  his  right  cheek 
running  from  the  bridge  of  the  nose  halfway  to  the 
ear.  This  gave  surplusage  to  the  sinister  appear- 
ance he  already  had.  To  him  Briscoe  spoke  first, 
attempting  a  geniality  he  did  not  feel. 

"How're  they  coming,  Texas?" 

"You  ain't  heard  me  kicking  any,  have  you?" 
the  man  made  sullen  answer. 

"Not  out  loud,"  said  Briscoe  significantly,  his 
eyes  narrowing  after  a  trick  they  had  when  he  was 
most  on  his  guard. 

"I  reckon  my  remarks  will  be  plumb  audible 
when  I've  got  any  kick  to  register,  seh." 

"I  hope  not,  Mr.  Johnson.  In  this  neck  of  woods 
a  man  is  liable  to  get  himself  disliked  if  he  shoots 
off  his  mouth  too  prevalent.  Folks  that  don't  like 
our  ways  can  usually  find  a  door  open  out  of  Lost 
Valley — if  they  don't  wait  too  long!" 

"I'm  some  haidstrong.  I  reckon  I'll  stay."  He 
scowled  at  Jed  with  disfavor,  meeting  him  eye  to 
eye.  But  presently  the  rigor  of  his  gaze  relaxed. 
He  remembered  that  he  was  a  fugitive  from  justice, 
and  at  the  mercy  of  this  man  who  had  so  far 
guessed  his  secret.  Putting  a  temporary  curb  on 
his  bilious  jealousy,  he  sulkily  added:  "Leastways, 
if  there's  no  objection,  Mr.  Briscoe.  I  ain't  looking 
for  trouble  with  anybody." 

"A  man  who's  looking  for  it  usually  finds  it,  Mr. 
Johnson.  A  man  that  ain't,  lives  longer  and  more 
peaceable."  At  this  point  Jed  pulled  himself  to- 


212  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

gather  and  bottled  his  arrogance,  remembering  that 
he  had  come  to  make  an  alliance  with  this  man. 
"But  that's  no  way  for  friends  to  talk.  I  got  a 
piece  of  news  for  you.  We'll  talk  it  over  in  the 
other  room  and  not  disturb  these  gentlemen." 

One  of  the  "gentlemen"  grinned.  He  was  a 
round-bodied,  bullet-headed  cowpuncher,  with  a 
face  like  burnt  leather.  He  was  in  chaps,  flannel 
shirt,  and  broad-brimmed  hat.  From  a  pocket  in 
his  chaps  a  revolver  protruded.  "That's  right,  Jed. 
Wrap  it  up  proper.  You'd  hate  to  disturb  us, 
wouldn't  you?" 

"I'll  not  interrupt  you  from  losing  your  money 
more  than  five  minutes,  Yorky,"  answered  Bris- 
coe  promptly. 

The  third  man  at  the  table  laughed  suddenly. 
"Ay  bane  laik  to  know  how  yuh  feel  now,  Yorky?" 
he  taunted. 

"It  ain't  you  that's  taking  my  spondulix  in,  you 
big,  overgrown  Swede!"  returned  Yorky  amiably. 
"It's  the  gent  from  Texas.  How  can  a  fellow  buck 
against  luck  that  fills  from  a  pair  to  a  full  house 
on  the  draw?" 

The  blond  giant,  Siegfried — who  was  not  a 
Swede,  but  a  Norwegian — announced  that  he  was 
seventeen  dollars  in  the  game  himself. 

Tommie,  already  broke,  and  an  onlooker,  re- 
ported sadly: 

"Sixty-one  for  me,  durn  it !" 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  213 

Jed  picked  up  a  lamp,  led  the  way  to  the  other 
room,  and  closed  the  door  behind  them. 

"I  thought  it  might  interest  you  to  know  that 
there's  a  new  arrival  in  the  valley,  Mr.  Struve,"  he 
said  smoothly. 

"Who  says  my  name's  Struve?"  demanded  the 
man  who  called  himself  Johnson,  with  fierce  sus- 
picion. 

Briscoe  laughed  softly.  "I  say  it — Wolf  Struve, 
Up  till  last  month  your  address  for  two  years  has> 
been  number  nine  thousand  four  hundred  and  thirty- 
two,  care  of  Penitentiary  Warden,  Yuma,  Ari- 


zona." 


"Prove  it.    Prove  it,"  blustered  the  accused  man. 

"Sure."  From  his  inside  coat  pocket  Jed  took 
out  a  printed  notice  offering  a  reward  for  the  cap- 
ture of  Nick  Struve,  alias  "Wolf"  Struve,  convict, 
who  had  broken  prison  on  the  night  of  February 
seventh,  and  escaped,  after  murdering  one  of  the 
guards.  A  description  and  a  photograph  of  the 
man  wanted  was  appended. 

"Looks  some  like  you.  Don't  it,  Mr. — shall  I 
say  Johnson  or  Struve?" 

"Say  Johnson!"  roared  the  Texan.  "That  ain't 
me.  I'm  no  jailbird." 

"Glad  to  know  it."  Briscoe  laughed  in  suave 
triumph.  "I  thought  you  might  be.  This  descrip- 
tion sounds  some  familiar.  I'll  not  read  it  all.  But 
listen:  'Scar  on  right  cheek,  running  from  bridge 


214  'A   TEXAS  RANGER 

of  nose  toward  ear.  Trigger  finger  missing;  shot 
away  when  last  arrested.  Weight,  about  one  hun- 
dred and  ninety/  By  the  way,  just  out  of  curiosity, 
how  heavy  are  you,  Mr.  Johnson?  'Height,  five 
feet  nine  inches.  Protuberant,  fishy  eyes.  Long, 
drooping,  reddish  mustache/  I'd  shave  that  mus- 
tache if  I  were  you,  Mr. — er — Johnson.  Some  one 
might  mistake  you  for  Nick  Struve." 

The  man  who  called  himself  Johnson  recognized 
denial  as  futile.  He  flung  up  the  sponge  with  a 
blasphemous  oath.  "What  do  you  want?  What's 
your  game?  Do  you  want  to  sell  me  for  the  re- 
ward ?  By  thunder,  you'd  better  not !" 

Briscoe  gave  way  to  one  of  the  swift  bursts  of 
passion  to  which  he  was  subject.  "Don't  threaten 
me,  you  prison  scum !  Don't  come  here  and  try  to 
dictate  what  I'm  to  do,  and  what  I'm  not  to  do.  I'll 
sell  you  if  I  want  to.  I'll  send  you  back  to  be 
hanged  like  a  dog.  Say  the  word,  and  I'll  have  you 
dragged  out  of  here  inside  of  forty-eight  hours." 

Struve  reached  for  his  gun,  but  the  other,  wary 
as  a  panther,  had  him  covered  while  the  convict's 
revolver  was  still  in  his  pocket. 

"Reach  for  the  roof!  Quick— or  I'll  drill  a  hole 
in  you !  That's  the  idea.  I  reckon  I'll  collect  your 
hardware  while  I'm  at  it.  That's  a  heap  better/' 

Struve  glared  at  him,  speechless. 

"You're  too  slow  on  the  draw  for  this  part  of 
the  country,  my  friend,"  jeered  Briscoe.  "Or  per- 
haps, while  you  were  at  Yuma,  you  got  out  of  prac- 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  215 

tice.  It's  like  stealing  candy  from  a  kid  to  beat  you 
to  it.  Don't  ever  try  to  draw  a  gun  again  in  Lost 
Valley  while  you're  asleep.  You  might  never 
waken." 

Jed  was  in  high  good  humor  with  himself.  His 
victim  looked  silent  murder  at  him. 

"One  more  thing,  while  you're  in  a  teachable 
frame  of  mind,"  continued  Briscoe.  "/  run  Lost 
Valley.  What  I  say,  goes  here.  Get  that  soaked 
into  your  think-tank,  my  friend.  Ever  since  you 
came,  you've  been  disputing  that  in  your  mind. 
You've  been  stirring  up  the  boys  against  me.  Think 
I  haven't  noticed  it?  Guess  again,  Mr.  Struve. 
You'd  like  to  be  boss  yourself,  wouldn't  you  ?  For- 
get it.  Down  in  Texas  you  may  be  a  bad,  bad  man, 
a  sure  enough  wolf,  but  in  Wyoming  you  only 
stack  up  to  coyote  size.  Let  this  slip  your  mind, 
and  Til  be  running  Lost  Valley  after  your  bones 
are  picked  white  by  the  buzzards." 

"I  ain't  a-goin'  to  make  you  any  trouble.  Didn't 
I  tell  you  that  before?"  growled  Struve  reluctantly. 

"See  you  don't,  then.  Now  I'll  come  again  ta 
my  news.  I  was  telling  you  that  there's  another 
stranger  in  this  valley,  Mr.  Struve.  Hails  from 
Texas,  too.  Name  of  Fraser.  Ever  hear  of  him  ?"" 

Briscoe  was  hardly  prepared  for  the  change 
which  came  over  the  Texan  at  mention  of  that 
name.  The  prominent  eyes  stared,  and  a  deep,  apo- 
plectic flush  ran  over  the  scarred  face.  The  hand 
that  caught  at  the  wall  trembled  with  excitement. 


216  "A    TEXAS  RANGER 

"You  mean  Steve  Fraser — Fraser  of  the  Rang- 
ers!" he  gasped. 

"That's  what  I'm  not  sure  of.  I  got  to  milling 
it  over  after  I  left  him,  and  it  come  to  me  I'd  seen 
him  or  his  picture  before.  You  still  got  that  mag- 
azine with  the  article  about  him  ?" 

"Yes." 

"I  looked  it  over  hurriedly.  Let  me  see  his  pic* 
ture  again,  and  I'll  tell  you  if  it's  the  same  man." 

"It's  in  the  other  room." 

"Get  it." 

Struve  presently  returned  with  the  magazine, 
and,  opening  it,  pointed  to  a  photograph  of  a  young 
officer  in  uniform,  with  the  caption  underneath : 

LIEUTENANT   STEPHEN   FRASER  OF  THE  TEXAS   RANGERS 
Who,  single-handed,  ran  down  and  brought  to  justice  the 
worst  gang  of  outlaws  known  in  recent  years. 

"It's  the  same  man,"  Briscoe  announced. 

The  escaped  convict's  mouth  set  in  a  cruel  line. 

"One  of  us,  either  him  or  me,  never  leaves  this 
valley  alive,"  he  announced. 

Jed  laughed  softly  and  handed  back  the  revolver. 
"That's  the  way  to  talk.  My  friend,  if  you  mean 
that,  you'll  need  your  gun.  Here's  hoping  you  beat 
him  to  it" 

"It  won't  be  an  even  break  this  time  if  I  can 
help  it." 

"I  gather  that  it  was,  last  time." 

"Yep.  We  drew  together."     Struve  interlarded 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  217 

his  explanation  with  oaths.  "He's  a  devil  with  a 
gun.  See  that?"  He  held  up  his  right  hand. 

"I  see  you're  sriy  your  most  useful  ringer,  if 
that's  what  you  mean." 

"Eraser  took  it  off  clean  at  twenty  yards.  I  got 
him  in  the  hand,  too,  but  right  or  left  he's  a  dead 
shot.  He  might  'a'  killed  me  if  he  hadn't  wanted 
to  take  me  alive.  Before  I'm  through  with  him 
he'll  wish  he  had." 

"Well,  you  don't  want  to  make  any  mistake  next 
time.  Get  him  right." 

"I  sure  will."  Hitherto  Struve  had  been  ab- 
sorbed in  his  own  turbid  emotions,  but  he  came 
back  from  them  now  with  a  new-born  suspicion  in 
his  eyes.  "Where  do  you  come  in,  Mr.  Briscoe? 
Why  are  you  so  plumb  anxious  I  should  load  him 
up  with  lead?  If  it's  a  showdown,  I'd  some  like 
to  see  your  cards  too." 

Jed  shrugged.  "My  reasons  ain't  urgent  like 
yours.  I  don't  favor  spies  poking  their  noses  in 
here.  That's  all  there's  to  it." 

Jed  had  worked  out  a  plot  as  he  rode  through 
the  night  from  the  Dillon  ranch — one  so  safe  and 
certain  that  it  pointed  to  sure  success.  Jed  was  no 
coward,  but  he  had  a  spider-like  cunning  that  wove 
others  as  dupes  into  the  web  of  his  plans. 

The  only  weakness  in  his  position  lay  in  him- 
self, in  that  sudden  boiling  up  of  passion  in  him 
that  was  likely  to  tear  through  his  own  web  and 
,  destroy  it.  Three  months  ago  he  had  given  way 


218  A    TEXAS   RANGER 

to  one  of  these  outbursts,  and  he  knew  that  any 
one  of  four  or  five  men  could  put  a  noose  around 
his  neck.  That  was  another  reason  why  such  a 
man  as  this  Texas  ranger  must  not  be  allowed  to 
meet  and  mix  with  them. 

It  was  his  cue  to  know  as  much  as  he  could  of 
every  man  that  came  into  the  valley.  Wherefore 
he  had  run  down  the  record  of  Struve  from  the  re- 
ward placard  which  a  detective  agency  furnished 
him  of  hundreds  of  criminals  who  were  wanted. 
What  could  be  more  simple  than  to  stir  up  the 
convict,  in  order  to  save  himself,  to  destroy  the 
ranger  who  had  run  him  down  before?  There 
would  be  a  demand  so  insistent  for  the  punishment 
of  the  murderer  that  it  could  not  be  ignored.  He 
would  find  some  pretext  to  lure  Struve  from  the 
valley  for  a  day  or  two,  and  would  arrange  it  so 
that  he  would  be  arrested  while  he  was  away.  Thus 
he  would  be  rid  of  both  these  troublesome  intruders 
without  making  a  move  that  could  be  seen. 

It  was  all  as  simple  as  A  B  C.  Already  Struve 
had  walked  into  the  trap.  As  Jed  sat  down  to  take 
a  hand  in  the  poker  game  that  was  in  progress,  he 
chuckled  quietly  to  himself.  He  was  quite  sure 
that  he  was  already  practically  master  of  the  sit" 
nation. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  ROUND-UP 

"Would  you  like  to  take  in  the  round-up 
to-day?" 

Arlie  flung  the  question  at  Fraser  with  a  frank 
directness  of  sloe-black  eyes  that  had  never  known 
coquetry.  She  was  washing  handkerchiefs,  and 
her  sleeves  were  rolled  to  the  elbows  of  the  slender, 
but  muscular,  coffee-brown  arms. 

"I  would." 

"If  you  like  you  may  ride  out  with  me  to  Willow 
Spring.  I  have  some  letters  to  take  to  dad." 

"Suits  me  down  to  the  ground,  ma'am." 

It  was  a  morning  beautiful  even  for  Wyoming. 
The  spring  called  potently  to  the  youth  in  them. 
The  fine  untempered  air  was  like  wine,  and  out  of 
a  blue  sky  the  sun  beat  pleasantly  down  through  a 
crystal-clear  atmosphere  known  only  to  the  region 
of  the  Rockies.  Nature  was  preaching  a  wordless 
sermon  on  the  duty  of  happiness  to  two  buoyant 
hearts  that  scarce  needed  it.  I 

Long  before  they  reached  the  scene  of  the  round- 
up they  could  hear  the  almost  continual  bawl  of 
worried  cattle,  and  could  even  see  the  cloud  of  dust 

219 


220  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

they  stirred.  They  passed  the  remuda,  in  charge 
of  two  lads  lounging  sleepily  in  their  saddles  with 
only  an  occasional  glance  at  the  bunch  of  grazing 
horses  they  were  watching.  Presently  they  looked 
down  from  a  high  ridge  at  the  busy  scene  below. 

Out  of  Lost  Valley  ran  a  hundred  rougrti  and 
wooded  gulches  to  the  impassable  cliff  wall  which 
bounded  it.  Into  one  of  these  they  now  descended 
slowly,  letting  their  ponies  pick  a  way  among  the 
loose  stones  and  shale  which  covered  the  steep 
hillside. 

What  their  eyes  fell  upon  was  cattle-land  at  its 
busiest.  Several  hundred  wild  hill  cattle  were  gath- 
ered in  the  green  draw,  and  around  them  was  a 
cordon  of  riders  holding  the  gather  steady.  Now 
and  again  one  of  the  cows  would  make  a  dash  to 
escape,  and  instantly  the  nearest  rider  would  wheel, 
as  on  a  batter's  plate,  give  chase,  and  herd  the 
animal  back  after  a  more  or  less  lengthy  pursuit. 

Several  of  the  riders  were  cutting  out  from  the 
main  herd  cows  wkh  unmarked  calves,  which  last 
were  immediately  roped  and  thrown.  Usually  it 
took  only  an  instant  to  determine  with  whose  cow 
the  calf  had  been,  and  a  few  seconds  to  drive  home 
the  correct  brand  upon  the  sizzling  flank.  Occa- 
sionally the  discussion  was  more  protracted,  in 
order  to  solve  a  doubt  as  to  the  ownership,  and  once 
a  calf  was  released  that  it  might  again  seek  its 
mother  to  prove  identity. 

Arlie  observed  that  Eraser's  eyes  were  shining. 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  221 

"I  used  to  be  a  puncher  myse'f,"  he  explained. 
"I  tell  you  it  feels  good  to  grip  a  saddle  between 
your  knees,  and  to"  swallow  the  dust  and  hear  the 
bellow  of  the  cows.  I  used  to  live  in  them  days. 
I  sure  did." 

A  boyish  puncher  galloped  past  with  a  whoop 
and  waved  his  hat  to  Arlie.  For  two  weeks  he  had 
been  in  the  saddle  for  fourteen  hours  out  of  the 
twenty-four.  He  was  grimy  with  dust,  and  hollow- 
eyed  from  want  of  sleep.  A  stubbly  beard  covered 
his  brick-baked  face.  But  the  unquenchable  gayety 
of  the  youthful  West  could  not  be  extinguished- 
Though  his  flannel  shirt  gaped  where  the  thorns 
had  torn  it,  and  the  polka-dot  bandanna  round  his 
throat  was  discolored  with  sweat,  he  was  as  blithely 
debonair  as  ever. 

"That's  Dick  France.  He's  a  great  friend  of 
mine,"  Arlie  explained. 

"Dick's  in  luck,"  Fraser  commented,  but  whether 
because  he  was  enjoying  himself  so  thoroughly  or 
because  he  was  her  friend  the  ranger  did  not 
explain. 

They  stayed  through  the  day,  and  ate  dinner  at 
the  tail  of  the  chuck  wagon  with  the  cattlemen. 
The  light  of  the  camp  fires,  already  blazing  in  the 
nipping  night  air,  shone  brightly.  The  ranger  rode 
back  with  her  to  the  ranch,  but  next  morning  he 
asked  Arlie  if  she  could  lend  him  an  old  pair  of 
chaps  discarded  by  her  father. 

She  found  a  pair  for  him. 


222  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

"If  you  don't  mind,  I'll  ride  out  to  the  round-up 
and  stay  with  the  boys  a  few  days,"  he  suggested. 

"You're  going  to  ride  with  them,"  she  accused. 

"I  thought  I  would.  I'm  not  going  to  saddle 
myse'f  on  you  two  ladies  forever." 

"You  know  we're  glad  to  have  you.  But  that 
isn't  it.  What  about  your  heart?  You  know  you 
can't  ride  the  range." 

He  flushed,  and  knew  again  that  feeling  of  con- 
tempt for  himself,  or,  to  be  more  exact,  for  his 
position. 

"I'll  be  awful  careful,  Miss  Arlie,"  was  all  he 
found  to  say. 

She  could  not  urge  him  further,  lest  he  misun- 
derstand her. 

"Of  course,  you  know  best,"  she  said,  with  a 
touch  of  coldness. 

He  saddled  Teddy  and  rode  back.  The  drive 
for  the  day  was  already  on,  but  he  fell  in  beside 
young  France  and  did  his  part.  Before  two  days 
had  passed  he  was  accepted  as  one  of  these  hard- 
riding  punchers,  for  he  was  a  competent  vaquero 
and  stood  the  grueling  work  as  one  born  to  it.  He 
was,  moreover,  well  liked,  both  because  he  could 
tell  a  good  story  and  because  these  sons  of  Anak 
recognized  in  him  that  dynamic  quality  of  manhood 
they  could  not  choose  but  respect.  In  this  a  for- 
tunate accident  aided  him. 

They  were  working  Lost  Creek,  a  deep  and  rapid 
stream  at  the  point  where  the  drive  ended.  The 


A    TEXAS   RANGER  223 

big  Norwegian,  Siegfried,  trying  to  head  off  a 
wild  cow  racing  along  the  bank  with  tail  up,  got 
too  near  the  edge.  The  bank  caved  beneath  the 
feet  of  his  pony,  and  man  and  horse  went  head  first 
into  the  turbid  waters.  Fraser  galloped  up  at  once, 
flung  himself  from  his  saddle,  and  took  in  at  a 
glance  the  fact  that  the  big  blond  Hercules  could 
not  swim. 

The  Texan  dived  for  him  as  he  was  going  down, 
got  hold  of  him  by  the  hair,  and  after  a  struggle 
managed  somehow  to  reach  the  farther  shore.  As 
they  both  lay  there,  one  exhausted,  and  the  other 
fighting  for  the  breath  he  had  nearly  lost  forever, 
Dillon  reached  the  bank. 

"Is  it  all  right,  Steve?"  he  called  anxiously. 

"All  right,"  grinned  the  ranger  weakly.  "Hell 
go  on  many  a  spree  yet.  Eh,  Siegfried  ?" 

The  Norwegian  nodded.  He  was  still  frightened 
and  half  drowned.  It  was  not  till  they  were  riding 
up  the  creek  to  find  a  shallow  place  they  could  ford 
that  he  spoke  his  mind. 

"Ay  bane  all  in  ven  you  got  me,  pardner." 

"Oh,  you  were  still  kicking." 

"Ay  bane  t'ink  Ay  had  von  chance  not  to  get 
out.  But  Ay  bane  not  forget  dees.  Eef  you  ever 
get  in  a  tight  place,  sencf  vor  Sig  Siegfried." 

"That's  all  right,  Sig." 

Nobody  wasted  any  compliments  on  him.  After 
the  fashion  of  their  kind,. they  guyed  the  Norwegian 
about  the  bath  he  had  taken.  Nevertheless,  Fraser 


224  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

knew  that  he  had  won  the  liking  of  these  men,  as 
well  as  their  deep  respect.  They  began  to  call  him 
by  his  first  name,  which  hitherto  only  Dillon  had 
done,  and  they  included  him  in  the  rough,  practical 
jokes  they  played  on  each  other. 

One  night  they  initiated  him — an  experience  to 
be  both  dreaded  and  desired.  To  be  desired  be- 
cause it  implies  the  conferring  of  the  thirty-second 
degree  of  the  freemasonry  of  Cattleland's  approval ; 
to  be  dreaded  because  hazing  is  mild  compared 
with  some  features  of  the  exercises. 

Fraser  was  dragged  from  sweet  slumber,  pegged 
face  down  on  his  blankets,  with  a  large-sized  man 
at  the  extremity  of  each  arm  and  leg,  and  intro- 
duced to  a  chapping.  Dick  France  wielded  the 
chaps  vigorously  upon  the  portions  of  his  anatomy 
where  they  would  do  the  most  execution.  The 
Texan  did  not  enjoy  it,  but  he  refrained  from  say- 
ing so.  When  he  was  freed,  he  sat  down  painfully 
on  a  saddle  and  remarked  amiably: 

"You're  a  beautiful  bunch,  ain't  you?  Anybody 
got  any  smoking?" 

This  proper  acceptance  of  their  attentions  so  de- 
lighted these  overgrown  children  that  they  dug  up 
three  bottles  of  whisky  that  were  kept  in  camp  for 
rattlesnake  bites,  and  made  Rome  howl.  They  had 
ridden  all  day,  and  for  many  weary  days  before 
that;  but  they  were  started  toward  making  a  night 
of  it  when  Dillon  appeared. 

Dillon  was  boss  of  the  round-up — he  had  been 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  225 

elected  by  general  consent,  and  his  word  was  law. 
He  looked  round  upon  them  with  a  xtwinkling  eye, 
and  wanted  to  know  how  long  it  was  going  to  last. 
But  the  way  he  put  his  question  was : 

"How  much  whisky  is  there  left?" 

Finding  there  was  none,  he  ordered  them  all 
back  to  their  blankets.  After  a  little  skylarking, 
they  obeyed.  Next  day  Fraser  rode  the  hills,  a 
sore,  sore  man.  But  nobody  who  did  not  know 
could  have  guessed  it.  He  would  have  died  before 
admitting  it  to  any  of  his  companions.  Thus  he 
won  the  accolade  of  his  peers  as  a  worthy  horse- 
man of  the  hills. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  BRONCHO  BUSTERS 

Jed  Briscoe  rejoined  the  round-up  the  day  fol- 
lowing Eraser's  initiation.  He  took  silent  note  of 
the  Texan's  popularity,  of  how  the  boys  all  called 
him  "Steve"  because  he  had  become  one  of  them, 
and  were  ready  either  to  lark  with  him  or  work 
with  him.  He  noticed,  too,  that  the  ranger  did  his 
share  of  work  without  a  whimper,  apparently  en- 
joying the  long,  hard  hours  in  the  saddle.  The 
hill  riding  was  of  the  roughest,  and  the  cattle  were 
wild  as  deers  and  as  agile.  But  there  was  no  break- 
neck incline  too  steep  for  Steve  Fraser  to  follow. 

Once  Jed  chanced  upon  Steve  stripped  for  a  bath 
beside  the  creek,  and  he  understood  the  physical 
reason  for  his  perfect  poise.  The  wiry,  sinuous 
muscles,  packed  compactly  without  obtrusion, 
played  beneath  the  skin  like  those  of  a  panther.  He 
walked  as  softly  and  as  easily  as  one,  with  some- 
thing of  the  rippling,  unconscious  grace  of  that 
jungle  lord.  It  was  this  certainty  of  himself  that 
vivified  the  steel-gray  eyes  which  looked  forth  un- 
afraid, and  yet  amiably,  upon  a  world  primitive 

226 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  227 

enough  to  demand  proof  of  every  man  who  would 
hold  the  respect  of  his  fellows, 

Meanwhile,  Briscoe  waited  for  Struve  and  his 
enemy  to  become  entangled  in  the  net  he  was  spin- 
ning. He  made  no  pretense  of  fellowship  with 
Fraser;  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  did  he  actively  set 
himself  against  him  with  the  men.  He  was  ready 
enough  to  sneer  when  Dick  France  grew  enthusi- 
astic about  his  new  friend,  but  this  was  to  be  ex- 
pected from  one  of  his  jaundiced  temper. 

"Who  is  this  all-round  cracker  jack  you're  tout- 
ing, Dick?"  he  asked  significantly. 

France  was  puzzled.  "Who  is  he?  Why,  he's 
Steve  Fraser." 

"I  ain't  asking  you  what  his  name  is.  I'm  ask- 
ing 'who  he  is.  What  does  he  do  for  a  living  ?  Who 
recommended  him  so  strong  to  the  boys  that  they 
take  up  with  him  so  sudden?" 

"I  don't  care  what  he  does  for  a  living.  Likely, 
he  rides  the  range  in  Texas.  When  it  comes  to  rec- 
ommendations, he's  got  one  mighty  good  one  writ- 
ten on  his  face." 

"You  think  so,  do  you?" 

"That's  what  I  think,  Jed.  He's  the  goods — 
best  of  company,  a  straight-up  rider,  and  a  first- 
rate  puncher.  Ask  any  of  the  boys." 

"I'm  using  my  eyes,  Dick.  They  tell  me  all  I 
need  to  know." 

"Well,  use  them  to-morrow.  He's  going  to  take 
a  whirl  at  riding  Dead  Easy.  Next  day  he's  going 


228  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

to  take  on  Rocking  Horse.  If  he  makes  good  on 
them,  you'll  admit  he  can  ride." 

"I  ain't  saying  he  can't  ride.  So  can  you.  If 
it's  plumb  gentle,  I  can  make  out  to  stick  on  a  pony 
myself." 

"Course  you  can  ride.  Everybody  knows  that 
You're  the  best  ever.  Any  man  that  can  win  the 

championship  of  Wyoming But  you'll  say 

yourself  them  strawberry  roans  are  wicked  devils." 

"He  hasn't  ridden  them  yet,  Dick." 

"He's  going  to." 

"We'll  be  there  to  see  it.  Mebbe  he  will.  Mebbe 
he  won't.  I've  known  men  before  who  thought 
they  were  going  to." 

It  was  in  no  moment  of  good-natured  weakness 
that  Eraser  had  consented  to  try  riding  the  outlaw 
horses.  Nor  had  his  vanity  anything  to  do  with  it. 
He  knew  a  time  might  be  coming  when  he  would 
need  all  the  prestige  and  all  the  friendship  he  could 
earn  to  tide  him  over  the  crisis.  Jed  Briscoe  had 
won  his  leadership,  partly  because  he  could  shoot 
quicker  and  straighter,  ride  harder,  throw  a  rope 
more  accurately,  and  play  poker  better  than  his 
companions. 

Steve  had  a  mind  to  show  that  he,  too,  could  do 
some  of  these  things  passing  well.  Wherefore,  he 
had  let  himself  be  badgered  good-naturedly  into 
trying  a  fall  with  these  famous  buckers.  As  the 
heavy  work  of  the  round-up  was  almost  over,  Dillon 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  229 

was  glad  to  relax  discipline  enough  to  give  the  boys 
a  little  fun. 

The  remuda  was  driven  up  while  the  outfit  was 
at  breakfast.  His  friends  guyed  Steve  with  pleas- 
ant prophecy. 

"He'll  be  hunting  leather  about  the  fourth  buck'/' 

"If  he  ain't  trying  to  make  of  himse'f  one  of 
them  there  Darius  Green  machines!"  suggested  an- 
other. 

"Got  any  last  words,  Steve?  Dead  Easy  most 
generally  eats  'em  alive,"  Dick  derided. 

"Sho!  Cayn't  you  see  he's  so  plumb  scared  he 
cayn'ttalk?" 

Fraser  grinned  and  continued  to  eat.  When  he 
had  finished  he  got  his  lariat  from  the  saddle, 
swung  to  Siegfried's  pony,  and  rode  unobtrusively 
forward  to  the  remuda.  The  horses  were  circling 
round  and  round,  so  that  it  was  several  minutes  be- 
fore he  found  a  chance.  When  he  did,  the  rope 
snaked  forward  and  dropped  over  the  head  of  the 
strawberry  roan.  The  horse  stood  trembling,  mak- 
ing not  the  least  resistance,  even  while  the  ranger 
saddled  and  cinched. 

But  before  the  man  settled  to  the  saddle,  the  out- 
law was  off  on  its  furious  resistance.  It  went  for- 
ward and  up  into  the  air  with  a  plunging  leap. 
The  rider  swung  his  hat  and  gave  a  joyous  whoop. 
Next  instant  there  was  a  scatter  of  laughing  men 
as  the  horse  came  toward  them  in  a  series  of  short, 


23Q  A    TEXAS   RANGER     

stiff -legged  bucks  which  would  have  jarred  its  rider 
like  a  pile  driver  falling  on  his  head  had  he  not  let 
himself  grow  limp  to  meet  the  shock. 

All  the  tricks  of  its  kind  this  unbroken  five-year- 
ofd  knew.  Weaving,  pitching,  sunfishing,  it  fought 
superbly,  the  while  Steve  rode  with  the  consummate 
ease  of  a  master.  His  sinuous  form  swayed  in- 
stinctively to  every  changing  motion  of  his  mount. 
Even  when  it  flung  itself  back  in  blind  fury,  he 
dropped  lightly  from  the  saddle  and  into  it  again 
as  the  animal  struggled  to  its  feet. 

The  cook  waved  a  frying  pan  in  frantic  glee. 
"Hurra-ay!  You're  the  goods,  all  right,  all 
right." 

"You  bet.  Watch  Steve  fan  him.  And  he  ain't 
pulled  leather  yet.  Not  once." 

An  unseen  spectator  was  taking  it  in  from  the 
brow  of  a  little  hill  crowned  with  a  group  of  firs. 
She  had  reached  this  point  just  as  the  Texan  had 
swung  to  the  saddle,  and  she  watched  the  battle 
between  horse  and  man  intently.  If  any  had  been 
there  to  see,  he  might  have  observed  a  strange  fire 
smouldering  in  her  eyes.  For  the  first  time  there 
was  filtering  through  her  a  vague  suspicion  of  this 
man  who  claimed  to  have  heart  trouble,  and 
had  deliberately  subjected  himself  to  the  ter- 
rific strain  of  such  a  test.  She  had  seen  broncho 
busters  get  off  bleeding  at  mouth  and  nose  and  ears 
after  a  hard  fight,  and  she  had  never  seen  a  con- 
test more  superbly  fought  than  this  one.  But  fuQ 


A    TEXAS  RANGER 


of  courage  as  the  horse  was,  it  had  met  its  master 
and  began  to  know  it. 

The  ranger's  quirt  was  going  tip  and  down, 
stinging  Dead  Easy  to  more  violent  exertions,  if 
possible.  But  the  outlaw  had  shot  its  bolt.  The 
plunges  grew  less  vicious,  the  bucks  more  feeble. 
It  still  pitched,  because  of  the  unbroken  gameness 
that  defied  defeat,  but  so  mechanically  that  the  mo- 
tions could  be  forecasted. 

Then  Steve  began  to  soothe  the  brute.  Some- 
how the  wild  creature  became  aware  that  this  man 
who  was  his  master  was  also  disposed  to  be  friendly. 
Presently  it  gave  up  the  battle,  quivering  in  every 
limb.  Fraser  slipped  from  the  saddle,  and  putting 
his  arm  across  its  neck  began  to  gentle  the  outlaw. 
The  animal  had  always  looked  the  incarnation  of 
wickedness.  The  red  eyes  in  its  ill-shaped  head 
were  enough  to  give  one  bad  dreams.  A  quarter  of 
an  hour  before,  it  had  bit  savagely  at  him.  Now  it 
stood  breathing  deep,  and  trembling  while  its  mas- 
ter let  his  hand  pass  gently  over  the  nose  and  neck 
with  soft  words  that  slowly  won  the  pony  back  from 
the  terror  into  which  it  had  worked  itself. 

"You  did  well,  Mr.  Fraser  from  Texas,"  Jed 
complimented  him,  with  a  smile  that  thinly  hid  his 
malice.  "But  it  won't  do  to  have  you  going  back 
to  Texas  with  the  word  that  Wyoming  is  shy  of 
riders.  I  ain't  any  great  shakes,  but  I  reckon  I'll 
have  to  take  a  whirl  at  Rocking  Horse."  He  had 
decided  to  ride  for  two  reasons.  One  was  that  he 


A  TEXAS  RANGER 


had  glimpsed  the  girl  among  the  firs  ;  the  other  was 
to  dissipate  the  admiration  his  rival  had  created 
among  the  men. 

Briscoe  lounged  toward  the  remuda,  rope  in 
hand.  It  was  his  cue  to  get  himself  up  pictur- 
esquely in  all  the  paraphernalia  of  the  cowboy. 
Black-haired  and  white-toothed,  lithe  as  a  wolf,  and 
endowed  with  a  grace  almost  feline,  it  was  easy  to 
understand  how  this  man  appealed  to  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  reckless  young  fellows  of  this  primeval 
valley.  Everything  he  did  was  done  well.  Further- 
more, he  looked  and  acted  the  part  of  leader  which 
he  assumed. 

Rocking  Horse  was  in  a  different  mood  from  its 
brother.  It  was  hard  to  rope,  and  when  Jed's  raw- 
hide had  fallen  over  its  head  it  was  necessary  to  re- 
enforce  the  lariat  with  two  others.  Finally  the  pony 
had  to  be  flung  down  before  a  saddle  could  be  put 
on.  When  Siegfried,  who  had  been  kneeling  on 
its  head,  stepped  back,  tfie  outlaw  staggered  to  its 
feet,  already  badly  shaken,  to  find  an  incubus 
clamped  to  the  saddle. 

No  matter  how  it  pitched,  the  human  clothespin 
stuck  to  his  seat,  and  apparently  with  as  little  con- 
cern as  if  he  had  been  in  a  rowboat  gently  moved 
to  and  fro  by  the  waves.  Jed  rode  like  a  centaur, 
every  motion  attuned  to  those  of  the  animal  as 
much  as  if  he  were  a  part  of  it.  No  matter  how  it 
pounded  or  tossed,  he  stuck  securely  to  the  hurri- 
cane deck  of  the  broncho. 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  233 

Once  only  he  was  in  danger,  and  that  because 
Rocking  Horse  flung  furiously  against  the  wheel 
of  a  wagon  and  ground  the  rider's  leg  till  he  grew 
dizzy  with  the  pain.  For  an  instant  he  caught  at 
the  saddle  horn  to  steady  himself  as  the  roan  bucked 
into  the  open  again. 

*He's  pulling  leather!"  some  one  shouted. 

"Shut  up,  you  goat!"  advised  the  Texan  good- 
naturedly.  "Can't  you  see  his  laig  got  jammed  till 
he's  groggy?  Wonder  is,  he  didn't  take  the  dust! 
They  don't  raise  better  riders  than  he  is." 

"By  hockey!  He's  all  in.  Look  out!  Jed's 
falling,"  France  cried,  running  forward. 

It  looked  so  for  a  moment,  then  Jed  swam  back 
to  clear  consciousness  again,  and  waved  them  back. 
He  began  to  use  his  quirt  without  mercy. 

"Might  know  he'd  game  it  out,"  remarked 
Yorky. 

He  did.  It  was  a  long  fight,  and  the  horse  was 
flecked  with  bloody  foam  before  its  spirit  and 
strength  failed.  But  the  man  in  the  saddle  kept 
his  seat  till  the  victory  was  won. 

Steve  was  on  the  spot  to  join  heartily  the  mur- 
mur of  applause,  for  he  was  too  good  a  sportsman 
to  grudge  admiration  even  to  his  enemy. 

"You're  the  one  best  bet  in  riders,  Mr.  Briscoe.  / 
It's  a  pleasure  to  watch  you,"  he  said  frankly. 

Jed's  narrowed  eyes  drifted  to  him.  "Oh,  hell !" 
he  drawled  with  insolent  contempt,  and  turned  on 
his  heel. 


234  'A    TEXAS  RANGER 

From  the  clump  of  firs  a  young  woman  was  de- 
scending, and  Jed  went  to  meet  her. 

"You  rode  splendidly,"  she  told  him  with  vivid 
eyes.  "Were  you  hurt  when  you  were  jammed 
again  the  wagon  ?  I  mean,  does  it  still  hurt  ?"  For 
she  noticed  that  he  walked  with  a  limp. 

"I  reckon  I  can  stand  the  grief  without  an  am- 
putation. Arlie,  I  got  something  to  tell  you." 

She  looked  at  him  in  her  direct  fashion  and 
waited. 

"It's  about  your  new  friend."  He  drew  from  a 
pocket  some  leaves  torn  out  of  a  magazine.  His 
finger  indicated  a  picture.  "Ever  see  that  gentle- 
man before?" 

The  girl  looked  at  it  coolly.  "It  seems  to  be 
Mr.  Fraser  taken  in  his  uniform;  Lieutenant 
Fraser,  I  should  say." 

The  cattleman's  face  fell.  "You  know,  then,  who 
he  is,  and  what  he's  doing  here." 

Without  evasion,  her  gaze  met  his.  "I  under- 
stood him  to  say  he  was  an  officer  in  the  Texas 
Rangers.  You  know  why  he  is  here." 

"You're  right,  I  do.    But  do  you?" 

"Well,  what  is  it  you  mean?  Out  with  it,  Jed/' 
she  demanded  impatiently. 

"He  is  here  to  get  a  man  wanted  in  Texas,  a 
man  hiding  in  this  valley  right  now." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  she  returned  quickly.  "And 
if  he  is,  that's  not  your  business  or  mine.  It's  his 
duty,  isn't  it?" 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  235 

"I  ain't  discussing  that.  You  know  the  law  of 
the  valley,  Arlie." 

"I  don't  accept  that  as  binding,  Jed.  Lots  of 
people  here  don't.  Because  Lost  Valley  used  to  be 
a  nest  of  miscreants,  it  needn't  always  be.  I  don't 
see  what  right  we've  got  to  set  ourselves  above  the 
law." 

"This  valley  has  always  stood  by  hunted  men 
when  they  reached  it.  That's  our  custom,  and  I 
mean  to  stick  to  it." 

"Very  well.  I  hold  you  to  that,"  she  answered 
quickly.  "This  man  Fraser  is  a  hunted  man.  He's 
hunted  because  of  what  he  did  for  me  and  dad.  I 
claim  the  protection  of  the  valley  for  him." 

"He  can  have  it — if  he's  what  he  says  he  is.  But 
why  ain't  he  been  square  with  us?  Why  didn't  he 
tell  who  he  was  ?" 

"He  told  me." 

"That  ain't  enough,  Arlie.  If  he  did,  you  kept  it 
quiet.  We  all  had  a  right  to  know." 

"If  you  had  asked  him,  he  would  have  told 
you." 

"I  ain't  so  sure  he  would.  Anyhow,  I  don't  like 
it.  I  believe  he  is  here  to  get  the  man  I  told  you  of. 
Mebbe  that  ain't  all." 

"What  more?"  she  scoffed. 

'This  fellow  is  the  best  range  detective  in  the 
country.  My  notion  is  he's  spying  around  about 
that  Squaw  Creek  raid." 

Under  the  dusky  skin  she  flushed  angrily.    "My 


236  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

notion  is  you're  daffy,  Jed.  Talk  sense,  and  I'll 
listen  to  you.  You  haven't  a  grain  of  proof." 

"I  may  get  some  yet,"  he  told  her  sulkily. 

She  laughed  her  disbelief.  "When  you  do,  let 
'tne  know." 

And  with  that  she  gave  her  pony  the  signal  to 

more  forward. 

i 

Nevertheless,  she  met  the  ranger  at  the  foot  of 
the  little  hill  with  distinct  coldness.  When  he  came 
up  to  shake  hands,  she  was  too  busy  dismounting  to 
notice. 

"Your  heart  must  be  a  good  deal  better.  I  sup- 
pose Lost  Valley  agrees  with  you."  She  had  swung 
down  on  the  other  side  of  the  horse,  and  her  glance 
at  him  across  the  saddle  seat  was  like  a  rapier 
thrust. 

He  was  aware  at  once  of  being  in  disgrace  with 
her,  and  it  chafed  him  that  he  had  no  adequate 
answer  to  her  implied  charge. 

"My  heart's  all  right,"  he  said  a  little  gruffly. 

"Yes,  it  seems  to  be,  lieutenant." 

She  trailed  the  reins  and  turned  away  at  once 
to  find  her  father.  The  girl  was  disappointed  in 
him.  He  had,  in  effect,  lied  to  her.  That  was  bad 
enough ;  but  she  felt  that  his  lie  had  concealed  some- 
thing, how  much  she  scarce  dared  say.  Her 
tangled  thoughts  were  in  chaos.  One  moment  she 
was  ready  to  believe  the  worst ;  the  next,  it  was  im- 
possible to  conceive  such  a  man  so  vile  a  spy  as  to 
reward  hospitality  with  treachery. 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  237 

Yet  she  remembered  now  that  it  had  been  while 
she  was  telling  of  the  fate  of  the  traitor  Burke  that 
she  had  driven  him  to  his  lie.  Or  had  he  not  told 
it  first  when  she  pointed  out  Lost  Valley  at  his 
feet?  Yes,  it  was  at  that  moment  she  had  noticed 
his  pallor.  He  had,  at  least,  conscience  enough  to 
be  ashamed  of  what  he  was  doing.  But  she  recog 
nized  a  wide  margin  of  difference  between  the  pos- 
sibilities of  his  guilt.  It  was  one  thing  to  come  to 
the  valley  for  an  escaped  murderer;  it  was  quite 
another  to  use  the  hospitality  of  his  host  as  a  means 
to  betray  the  friends  of  that  host.  Deep  in  her 
heart  she  could  not  find  it  possible  to  convict  him 
of  the  latter  alternative.  He  was  too  much  a  man, 
too  vitally  dynamic.  No;  whatever  else  he  was, 
she  felt  sure  he  was  not  so  hopelessly  lost  to  de- 
cency. He  had  that  electric  spark  of  self-respect 
which  may  coexist  with  many  faults,  but  not  witb 
treachery. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  SHOT  FROM  BALD  KNOB 

A  bunch  of  young  steers  which  had  strayed  from*' 
their  range  were  to  be  driven  to  the  Dillon  ranch, 
and  the  boss  of  the  rodeo  appointed  France  and 
Fraser  to  the  task. 

"Yo'll  have  company  home,  honey,"  he  told  his 
daughter,  "and  yo'll  be  able  to  give  the  boys  a 
hand  if  they  need  it.  These  hill  cattle  are  still 
some  wild,  though  we've  been  working  them  a 
week.  Yo're  a  heap  better  cowboy  than  some  that 
works  more  steady  at  the  business." 

Briscoe  nodded.  "You  bet!  I  ain't  forgot  that 
day  Arlie  rode  Big  Timber  with  me  two  years  ago. 
She  wasn't  sixteen  then,  but  she  herded  them  hill 
steers  like  they  belonged  to  a  milk  bunch." 

He  spoke  his  compliment  patly  enough,  but  some- 
how the  girl  had  an  impression  that  he  was  thinking  < 
of  something  else.  She  was  right,  for  as  he  helped 
gather  the  drive  his  mind  was  busy  with  a  problem. 
Presently  he  dismounted  to  tighten  a  cinch,  and 
made  a  signal  to  a  young  fellow  known  as  Slim  Le- 
roy.  The  latter  was  a  new  and  tender  recruit  to 
Jed's  band  of  miscreants.  He  drew  up  beside  his 

238 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  239 

leader  and  examined  one  of  the  fore  hoofs  of  his 
pony. 

"Slim,  I'm  going  to  have  Dillon  send  you  for  the 
mail  to-day.  When  he  tells  you,  that's  the  first  you 
know  about  it.  Understand?  You'll  have  to  take 
the  hill  cut  to  Jack  Rabbit  Run  on  your  way  in. 
At  the  cabin  back  of  the  aspens,  inquire  for  a  man 
that  calls  himself  Johnson.  If  he's  there,  give  him 
this  message:  'This  afternoon  from  Bald  Knob/ 
Remember!  Just  those  words,  and  nothing  more. 
If  he  isn't  there,  forget  the  message.  You'll  know 
the  man  you  want  because  he  is  shy  his  trigger 
finger  and  has  a  ragged  scar  across  his  right  cheek. 
Make  no  mistake  about  this,  Slim." 

"Sure  I  won't." 

Briscoe,  having  finished  cinching,  swung  to  his 
saddle  and  rode  up  to  say  good-by  to  Arlie. 

"Hope  you'll  have  no  trouble  with  this  bunch.  If 
you  push  right  along  you'd  ought  to  get  home  by 
night,"  he  told  her. 

Arlie  agreed  carelessly.  "I  don't  expect  any 
trouble  with  them.  So-long,  Jed." 

It  would  not  have  been  her  choice  to  ride  home 
with  the  lieutenant  of  rangers,  but  since  her  father 
had  made  the  appointment  publicly  she  did  not  care' 
to  make  objection.  Yet  she  took  care  to  let  Fraser 
see  that  he  was  in  her  black  books.  The  men  rode 
toward  the  rear  of  the  herd,  one  on  each  side,  and 
Arlie  fell  in  beside  her  old  playmate,  Dick.  She 
laughed  and  talked  with  him  about  a  hundred  things 


24Q  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

in  which  Steve  could  have  had  no  part,  even  if  he 
had  been  close  enough  to  catch  more  than  one  word 
out  of  twenty.  Not  once  did  she  even  look  his  way. 
Quite  plainly  she  had  taken  pains  to  forget  his 
existence. 

''It  was  Briscoe's  turn  the  other  day,"  mused  the 
Texan.  "It's  mine  now.  I  wonder  when  it  will  be 
Dick's  to  get  put  out  in  the  cold !" 

Nevertheless,  though  he  tried  to  act  the  phil- 
osopher, it  cut  him  that  the  high-spirited  girl  had 
condemned  him.  He  felt  himself  in  a  false  posi- 
tion from  which  he  could  not  easily  extricate  him- 
self. The  worst  of  it  was  that  if  it  came  to  a  show- 
down he  could  not  expect  the  simple  truth  to  ex- 
onerate him. 

From  where  they  rode  there  drifted  to  him  oc- 
casionally the  sound  of  the  gay  voices  of  the  young 
people.  It  struck  him  for  the  first  time  that  he  was 
getting  old.  Arlie  could  not  be  over  eighteen,  and 
Dick  perhaps  twenty-one.  Maybe  young  people 
like  that  thought  a  fellow  of  twenty-seven  a  Me- 
thusaleh. 

After  a  time  the  thirsty  cattle  smelt  water  and 
hit  a  bee  line  so  steadily  for  it  that  they  needed  no 
watching.  Every  minute  or  two  one  of  the  leaders 
stretched  out  its  neck  and  let  out  a  bellow  without 
slackening  its  pace. 

Steve  lazed  on  his  pony,  shifting  his  position  to 
ease  his  cramped  limbs  after  the  manner  of  the 
range  rider.  In  spite  of  himself,  his  eyes  would 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  241 

drift  toward  the  jaunty  little  figure  on  the  pinto. 
The  masculine  in  him  approved  mightily  her  lissom 
grace  and  the  proud  lift  of  her  dark  head,  with  its 
sun-kissed  face  set  in  profile  to  him.  He  thought 
her  serviceable  costume  very  becoming,  from  the 
pinched  felt  hat  pinned  to  the  dark  mass  of  hair, 
and  the  red  silk  kerchief  knotted  loosely  round  the 
pretty  throat,  to  the  leggings  beneath  the  corduroy 
skirt  and  the  flannel  waist  with  sleeves  rolled  up 
in  summer-girl  fashion  to  leave  the  tanned  arms 
bare  to  the  dimpled  elbows. 

The  trail,  winding  through  a  narrow  defile, 
brought  them  side  by  side  again. 

"Ever  notice  what  a  persistent  color  buckskin 
is,  Steve  ?"  inquired  France,  by  way  of  bringing 
him  into  the  conversation.  "It's  strong  in  every 
one  of  these  cattle,  though  the  old  man  has  been 
trying  to  get  rid  of  it  for  ten  years." 

"You  mustn't  talk  to  me,  Dick,"  responded  his 
friend  gravely.  "Little  Willie  told  a  lie,  and  he's 
being  stood  in  a  corner." 

Arlie  flushed  angrily,  opened  her  mouth  to  speak, 
and,  changing  her  mind,  looked  at  him  witheringly. 
He  didn't  wither,  however.  Instead,  he  smiled 
broadly,  got  out  his  mouth  organ,  and  cheerfully 
entertained  them  with  his  favorite,  "I  Met  My  Love  \ 
In  the  Alamo." 

The  hot  blood  under  dusky  skin  held  its  own  in 
her  cheeks.  She  was  furious  with  him,  and  dared 
not  trust  herself  to  speak.  As  soon  as  they  had 


242  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

passed  through  the  defile  she  spurred  forward,  as 
if  to  turn  the  leaders.  France  turned  to  his  friend 
and  laughed  ruefully. 

"She's  full  of  pepper,  Steve." 

The  ranger  nodded.  "She's  all  right,  Dick.  If 
you  want  to  know,  she's  got  a  right  to  make  a  door- 
mat of  me.  I  lied  to  her.  I  was  up  against  it,  and 
I  kinder  had  to.  You  ride  along  and  joir  her.  If 
you  want  to  get  right  solid,  tell  her  how  many 
kinds  of  a  skunk  I  am.  Worst  of  it  is,  I  ain't  any 
too  sure  I'm  not." 

"I'm  sure  for  you  then,  Steve,"  the  lad  called 
back,  as  ne  loped  forward  after  the  girl. 

He  was  so  sure,  that  he  began  to  praise  his  friend 
to  Arlie,  to  tell  her  of  what  a  competent  cowman 
he  was,  how  none  of  them  could  make  a  cut  or  rope 
a  wild  steer  like  him.  She  presently  wanted  to 
know  whether  Dick  could  not  find  something  more 
interesting  to  talk  about. 

He  could  not  help  smiling  at  her  downright  man- 
ner. "You've  surely  got  it  in  for  him,  Arlie.  I 
thought  you  liked  him." 

She  pulled  up  her  horse,  and  looked  at  him. 
"What  made  you  think  that?  Did  he  tell  yoy 
so?" 

Dick  fairly  shouted.  "You  do  rub  it  in,  girl, 
when  you've  got  a  down  on  a  fellow.  No,  he  didn't 
tell  me.  You  did." 

"Me !"  she  protested  indignantly.    "I  never  did." 

"Oh,  you  didn't  say  so,  but  I  don't  need  a  church 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  243 

to  fall  on  me  before  I  can  take  a  hint.  You  acted 
as  though  you  liked  him  that  day  you  and  him  came 
riding  into  camp." 

"I  didn't  do  any  such  thing,  Dick  France.  I 
don't  like  him  at  all,"  very  decidedly. 

"All  the  boys  do — all  but  Jed.  I  don't  reckon 
he  does." 

"Do  I  have  to  like  him  because  the  boys  do?" 
she  demanded. 

"O'  course  not."  Dick  stopped,  trying  to  puzzle 
it  out.  "He  says  you  ain't  to  blame,  that  he  lied 
to  you.  That  seems  right  strange,  too.  It  ain't  like 
Steve  to  lie." 

"How  do  you  know  so  much  about  him?  You 
haven't  known  him  a  week." 

"That's  what  Jed  says.  I  say  it  ain't  a  question 
of  time.  Some  men  I've  knew  ten  years  I  ain't 
half  so  sure  of.  He's  a  man  from  the  ground  up. 
Any  one  could  tell  that,  before  they  had  seen  him 
five  minutes." 

Secretly,  the  girl  was  greatly  pleased.  She  so 
wanted  to  believe  that  Dick  was  right.  It  was  what 
she  herself  had  thought. 

"I  wish  you'd  seen  him  the  day  he  pulled  Sieg- 
fried out  of  Lost  Creek.  Tell  you,  I  thought  they 
vrere  both  goners,"  Dick  continued. 

"I  expect  it  was  most  ankle-deep,"  she  scoffed. 
"Hello,  we're  past  Bald  Knob!" 

"They  both  came  mighty  nigh  handing  in  their 
checks." 


244  A    TEXAS  RANGER  

"I  didn't  know  that,  though  I  knew,  of  course, 
he  was  fearless,"  Arlie  said. 

"What's  that?"  Dick  drew  in  his  horse  sharply, 
and  looked  back. 

The  sound  of  a  rifle  shot  echoed  from  hillside  to 
hillside.  Like  a  streak  of  light,  the  girl's  pinto 
flashed  past  him.  He  heard  her  give  a  sobbing  cry( 
of  anguish.  Then  he  saw  that  Steve  was  slipping1 
very  slowly  from  his  saddle. 

A  second  shot  rang  out.  The  light  was  begin- 
ning to  fail,  but  he  made  out  a  man's  figure 
crouched  among  the  small  pines  on  the  shoulder  of 
Bald  Knob.  Dick  jerked  out  his  revolver  as  he 
rode  back,  and  fired  twice.  He  was  quite  out  of 
pistol  range,  but  he  wanted  the  man  in  ambush 
to  see  that  help  was  at  hand.  He  saw  Arlie  fling 
herself  from  her  pony  in  time  to  support  the  Texan 
just  as  he  sank  to  the  ground. 

"She'll  take  care  of  Steve.  It's  me  for  that  mur- 
derer," the  young  man  thought. 

Acting  upon  that  impulse,  he  slid  from  his  horse 
and  slipped  into  the  sagebrush  of  the  hillside.  By 
good  fortune  he  was  wearing  a  gray  shirt  of  a  shade 
which  melted  into  that  of  the  underbrush.  Night 
falls  swiftly  in  the  mountains,  and  already  dusk  was 
softly  spreading  itself  over  the  hills. 

Dick  went  up  a  draw,  where  young  pines  huddled 
together  in  the  trough;  and  from  the  upper  end  of 
this  he  emerged  upon  a  steep  ridge,  eyes  and  ears 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  245' 

alert  for  the  least  sign  of  human  presence.  A  third 
shot  had  rung  out  while  he  was  in  4he  dense  mass 
of  foliage  of  the  evergreens,  but  now  silence  lay 
heavy  all  about  him.  The  gathering  darkness 
blurred  detail,  so  that  any  one  of  a  dozen  bowlders 
might  be  a  shield  for  a  crouching  man. 

Once,  nerves  at  a  wire  edge  from  the  strain  on 
him,  he  thought  he  saw  a  moving  figure.  Throw- 
ing up  his  gun,  he  fired  quickly.  But  he  must  have 
been  mistaken,  for,  shortly  afterward,  he  heard 
some  one  crashing  through  dead  brush  at  a  distance. 

"He's  on  the  run,  whoever  he  is.  Guess  I'll  get 
back  to  Steve,"  decided  France  wisely. 

He  found  his  friend  stretched  on  the  ground,  with 
his  head  in  Arlie's  lap. 

"Is  it  very  bad  ?"  he  asked  the  girl. 

"I  don't  know.  There's  no  light.  Whatever 
shall  we  do?"  she  moaned. 

"I'm  a  right  smart  of  a  nuisance,  ain't  I?" 
drawled  the  wounded  man  unexpectedly. 

She  leaned  forward  quickly.  "Where  are  you 
hit?" 

"In  the  shoulder,  ma'am." 

"Can  you  ride,  Steve  ?  Do  you  reckon  you  could 
make  out  the  five  miles?"  Dick  asked. 

Arlie  answered  for  him.  She  had  felt  the  inert 
weight  of  his  heavy  body  and  knew  that  he  was 
beyond  helping  himself.  "No.  Is  there  no  house 
near?  There's  Alec  Howard's  cabin." 


246  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

"He's  at  the  round-up,  but  I  guess  we  had  better 
take  Steve  there — if  we  could  make  out  to  get  him 
that  far." 

The  girl  took  command  quietly.  "Unsaddle 
Teddy." 

She  had  unloosened  his  shirt  and  was  tying  her 
silk  kerchief  over  the  wound,  from  which  blood 
was  coming  in  little  jets. 

"We  can't  carry  him,"  she  decided.  "It's  too  far. 
We'll  have  to  lift  him  to  the  back  of  the  horse,  and 
let  him  lie  there.  Steady,  Dick.  That's  right.  You 
must  hold  him  on,  while  I  lead  the  horse." 

Heavy  as  he  was,  they  somehow  hoisted  him, 
and  started.  He  had  fainted  again,  and  hung 
limply,  with  his  face  buried  in  the  mane  of  the 
pony.  It  seemed  an  age  before  the  cabin  loomed, 
shadow-like,  out  of  the  darkness.  They  found  the 
door  unlocked,  as  usual,  and  carried  him  in  to  the 
bed. 

"Give  me  your  knife,  Dick,"  Arlie  ordered  quietly. 
"And  I  want  water.  If  that's  a  towel  over  there, 
bring  it." 

"Just  a  moment.  I'll  strike  a  light,  and  we'll 
see  where  we're  at." 

"No.  We'll  have  to  work  in  the  dark.  A  light 
might  bring  them  down  on  us."  She  had  been  cut- 
ting the  band  of  the  shirt,  and  now  ripped  it  so 
as  to  expose  the  wounded  shoulder. 

Dick  took  a  bucket  to  the  creek,  and  presently 
returned  with  it.  In  his  right  hand  he  carried  his 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  247 

revolver.  When  he  reached  the  cabin  he  gave  an 
audible  sigh  of  relief  and  quickly  locked  the  door. 

"Of  course  you'll  have  to  go  for  help,  Dick. 
Bring  old  Doc  Lee." 

"Why,  Arlie,  I  can't  leave  you  here  alone.  What 
are  you  talking  about?" 

"You'll  have  to.  It's  the  only  thing  to  do.  You'll 
have  to  give  me  your  revolver.  And,  oh,  Dick, 
don't  lose  a  moment  on  the  way." 

He  was  plainly  troubled.  "I  just  can't  leave  you 
here  alone,  girl.  What  would  your  father  say  if 
anything  happened?  I  don't  reckon  anything  will, 
but  we  can't  tell.  No,  I'll  stay  here,  too.  Steve 
must  take  his  chance." 

"You'll  not  stay."  She  flamed  round  upon  him, 
with  the  fierce  passion  of  a  tigress  fighting  for  her 
young.  "You'll  go  this  minute — this  very  minnte !" 

"But  don't  you  see  I  oughtn't  to  leave  you  ?  Any- 
body would  tell  you  that,"  he  pleaded. 

"And  you  call  yourself  his  friend,"  she  cried,  in 
a  low,  bitter  voice. 

"I  call  myself  yours,  too,"  he  made  answer  dog- 
gedly. 

"Then  go.  Go  this  instant.  You'll  go,  anyway; 
but  if  you're  my  friend,  you'll  go  gladly,  and  bring 
help  to  save  us  both." 

"I  wisht  I  knew  what  to  do,"  he  groaned. 

Her  palms  fastened  on  his  shoulders.  She  was  a 
creature  transformed.  Such  bravery,  such  feminine 
ferocity,  such  a  burning  passion  of  the  spirit,  was 


\ 


248  'A    TEXAS  RANGER 

altogether  outside  of  his  experience  of  her  or  any 
other  woman.  He  could  no  more  resist  her  than  he 
could  fly  to  the  top  of  Bald  Knob. 

"I'll  go,  Arlie." 

"And  bring  help  soon.  Get  Doc  Lee  here  soon 
as  you  can.  Leave  word  for  armed  men  to  follow. 
Don't  wait  for  them." 

"No." 

"Take  his  Teddy  horse.  It  can  cover  ground 
faster  than  yours." 

"Yes." 

With  plain  misgivings,  he  left  her,  and  presently 
she  heard  the  sound  of  his  galloping  horse.  It 
seemed  to  her  for  a  moment  as  if  she  must  call  him 
back,  but  she  strangled  the  cry  in  her  throat.  She 
locked  the  door  and  bolted  it,  then  turned  back  to 
the  bed,  upon  which  the  wounded  man  was  begin- 
ning to  moan  in  his  delirium. 


- 
CHAPTER  X 

DOC  LEE 

Arlw  knew  nothing  of  wounds  or  their  treatment^ 
All  she  could  do  was  to  wash  the  shoulder  in  cold 
water  and  bind  it  with  strips  torn  from  her  white 
underskirt.  When  his  face  and  hands  grew  hot 
with  the  fever,  she  bathed  them  with  a  wet  towel. 
How  badly  he  was  hurt — whether  he  might  not 
even  die  before  Dick's  return — she  had  no  way  of 
telling.  His  inconsequent  babble  at  first  frightened 
hertf  for  she  had  never  before  seen  a  person  in  de- 
lirium, nor  heard  of  the  insistence  with  which  one 
harps  upon  some  fantasy  seized  upon  by  a  diseased 
mind. 

"She  thinks  you're  a  skunk,  Steve.  So  you  are. 
She's  dead  right — dead  right — dead  right.  You 
lied  to  her,  you  coyote!  Stand  up  in  the  corner, 
you  liar,  while  she  whangs  at  you  with  a  six-gun! 
You're  a  skunk — dead  right." 

So  he  would  run  on  in  a  variation  of  monotony, 
the  strong,  supple,  masterful  man  as  helpless  as  a 
child,  all  the  splendid  virility  stricken  from  him  by 
the  pressure  of  an  enemy's  finger.  The  eyes  that 
she  had  known  so  full  of  expression,  now  like  hall- 

249 


25Q  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

scabbarded  steel,  and  now  again  bubbling  from  the 
inner  mirth  of  him,  were  glazed  and  unmeaning. 
The  girl  had  felt  in  him  a  capacity  for  silent  self- 
containment  ;  and  here  he  was,  picking  at  the  cover- 
let with  restless  fingers,  prattling  foolishly,  like  an 
infant. 

She  was  a  child  of  impulse,  sensitive  and  plastic. 
Because  she  had  been  hard  on  him  before  he  was 
struck  down,  her  spirit  ran  open-armed  to  make 
amends.  What  manner  of  man  he  was  she  did  not 
know.  But  what  availed  that  to  keep  her,  a  crea- 
ture of  fire  and  dew,  from  the  clutch  of  emotions 
strange  and  poignant?  He  had  called  himself  a 
liar  and  a  coyote,  yet  she  knew  it  was  not  true,  or 
at  worst,  true  in  some  qualified  sense.  He  might 
be  hard,  reckless,  even  wicked  in  some  ways.  But, 
vaguely,  she  felt  that  if  he  were  a  sinner  he  sinned 
with  self-respect.  He  was  in  no  moral  collapse,  at 
least.  It  was  impossible  to  fit  him  to  her  concep- 
tion of  a  spy.  No,  no !  Anything  but  that ! 

So  she  sat  there,  her  fingers  laced  about  her  knee, 
as  she  leaned  forward  to  wait  upon  the  needs  she 
could  imagine  for  him,  the  dumb  tragedy  of  des- 
pair in  her  childish  face. 

The  situation  was  one  that  made  for  terror.  To 
be  alone  with  a  wounded  man,  his  hurt  undressed, 
to  hear  his  delirium  and  not  to  know  whether  he 
might  not  die  any  minute — this  would  have  been 
enough  to  cause  apprehension.  Add  to  it  the  dark- 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  251 

ness,  her  deep  interest  in  him,  the  struggle  of  her 
aoui,  and  the  dread  of  unseen  murder  stalking  in 
the  silent  night. 

Though  her  thought  was  of  him,  it  was  not 
wholly  upon  him.  She  sat  where  she  could  watch 
the  window,  Dick's  revolver  in  another  chair  be-' 
side  her.  It  was  a  still,  starry  night,  and  faintly 
she  could  see  the  hazy  purple,  mountain  line.  Some- 
where beneath  those  uncaring  stars  was  the  man 
who  had  done  this  awful  thing.  Was  he  far,  or 
was  he  near?  Would  he  come  to  make  sure  he  had 
not  failed?  Her  fearful  heart  told  her  that  he 
would  come. 

She  must  have  fought  her  fears  nearly  an  hour 
before  she  heard  the  faintest  of  sounds  outside.  Her 
hand  leaped  to  the  revolver.  She  sat  motionless, 
listening,  with  nerves  taut.  It  came  again  presently, 
a  deadened  footfall,  close  to  the  door.  Then,  after 
an  eternity,  the  latch  clicked  softly.  Some  one, 
with  infinite  care,  was  trying  to  discover  whether 
the  door  was  locked. 

His  next  move  she  anticipated.  Her  eyes  fast- 
ened on  the  window,  while  she  wailed  breathlessly. 
Her  heart  was  hammering  furiously.  Moments 
passed,  in  which  she  had  to  set  her  teeth  to  keep 
from  screaming  aloud.  The  revolver  was  shaking 
so  that  she  had  to  steady  the  barrel  with  her  left 
hand.  A  shadow  crossed  one  pane,  the  shadow  of 
a  head  in  profile,  ar.d  pushed  itself  forward  till 


252  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

shoulders,  arm,  and  poised  revolver  covered  the 
lower  sash.  Very,  very  slowly  the  head  itself  crept 
into  sight. 

Arlie  fired  and  screamed  simultaneously.  The 
tiiud  of  a  fall,  the  scuffle  of  a  man  gathering  him- 
self to  his  feet  again,  the  rush  of  retreating  steps, 
all  merged  themselves  in  one  single  impression  of 
fierce,  exultant  triumph. 

Her  only  regret  was  that  she  had  not  killed  him. 
She  was  not  even  sure  that  she  had  hit  him,  for  hef 
bullet  had  gone  through  the  glass  within  an  inch 
of  the  inner  woodwork.  Nevertheless,  she  knew 
that  he  had  had  a  shock  that  would  carry  him  far. 
Unless  he  had  accomplices  with  him — and  of  that 
there  had  been  no  evidence  at  the  time  of  the  attack 
from  Bald  Knob — he  would  not  venture  another 
attempt.  Of  one  thing  she  was  sure.  The  face 
that  had  looked  in  at  the  window  was  one  she  had 
never  seen  before.  In  this,  too,  she  found  relief 
— for  she  knew  now  that  the  face  she  had  expected 
to  see  follow  the  shadow  over  the  pane  had  been 
that  of  Jed  Briscoe;  and  Jed  had  too  much  of  the 
courage  of  Lucifer  incarnate  in  him  to  give  up 
because  an  unexpected  revolver  had  been  fired  in 
his  face. 

Time  crept  slowly,  but  it  could  hardly  have  been 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  later  that  she  heard  the  gal- 
loping of  horses. 

"It  is  Dick!"  she  cried  joyfully,  and,  running  to 
the  door,  she  unbolted  and  unlocked  it  just  as 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  253 

France  dragged  Teddy  to  a  halt  and  flung  himself 
to  the  ground. 

The  young  man  gave  a  shout  of  gladness  at 
sight  of  her. 

"Is  it  all  right,  Arlie?" 

"Yes.  That  is — I  don't  know.  He  is  delirious. 
A  man  came  to  the  window,  and  I  shot  at  him. 
Oh,  Dick,  I'm  so  glad  you're  back." 

In  her  great  joy,  she  put  her  arms  round  his 
neck  and  kissed  him.  Old  Doctor  Lee,  dismount- 
ing more  leisurely,  drawled  his  protest. 

"Look-a-here,  Arlie.  I'm  the  doctor.  Where 
do  I  come  in?" 

"I'll  kiss  you,  too,  when  you  tell  me  he'll  get 
well."  The  half-hysterical  laugh  died  out  of  her 
voice,  and  she  caught  him  fiercely  by  the  arm. 
"Doc,  doc,  don't  let  him  die,"  she  begged. 

He  had  known  her  all  her  life,  had  been  by  the 
bedside  when  she  came  into  the  world,  and  he  put 
his  arm  round  her  shoulders  and  gave  her  a  little 
hug  as  they  passed  into  the  room. 

"We'll  do  our  level  best,  little  girl." 

She  lit  a  lamp,  and  drew  the  window  curtain,  so 
that  none  could  see  from  the  outside.  While  the 
old  doctor  arranged  his  instruments  and  bandages 
on  chairs,  she  waited  on  him.  He  noticed  how 
white  she  was,  for  he  said,  not  unkindly : 

"I  don't  want  two  patients  right  now,  Arlie.  If 
you're  going  to  keel  over  in  a  faint  right  in  the 
middle  of  it,  I'll  have  Dick  help." 


254  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

"No,  no,  I  won't,  doc.  Truly,  I  won't,"  she 
promised. 

"All  right,  little  girl.  We'll  see  how  game  you 
are.  Dick,  hold  the  light.  Hold  it  right  there. 
See?" 

The  Texan  had  ceased  talking,  and  was  silent, 
except  for  a  low  moan,  repeated  at  regular  inter- 
vals. The  doctor  showed  Arlie  how  to  administer 
the  anaesthetic  after  he  had  washed  the  wound. 
While  he  was  searching  for  the  bullet  with  his 
probe  she  flinched  as  if  he  had  touched  a  bare 
nerve,  but  she  stuck  to  her  work  regardless  of  her 
feelings,  until  the  lead  was  found  and  extracted 
and  the  wound  dressed. 

Afterward,  Dick  found  her  seated  on  a  rock  out- 
side crying  hysterically.  He  did  not  attempt  to 
cope  with  the  situation,  but  returned  to  the  house 
and  told  Lee. 

"Best  thing  for  her.  Her  nerves  are  over- 
wrought and  unstrung.  She'll  be  all  right,  once 
she  has  her  cry  out.  I'll  drift  around,  and  jolly  her 
along." 

The  doctor  presently  came  up  and  took  a  seat 
beside  her. 

"Wha — what  do  you  think,  doctor?"  she  sobbed. 

"Well,  I  think  it's  tarnation  hot  operating  with 
a  big  kerosene  lamp  six  inches  from  your  haid," 
h^  said,  as  he  mopped  his  forehead. 

*I  mean— will  he— get  well?" 
i      Lee  snorted.     ".Well,  I'd  be  ashamed  of  him  if 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  255 

he  didn't.  If  he  lets  a  nice,  clean,  flesh  wound  put 
him  out  of  business  he  don't  deserve  ^to  live.  Don't 
worry  any  about  him,  young  lady.  Say,  I  wish 
I  had  zwei  beer  right  now,  Arlie." 

"You  mean  it?  You're  not  just  saying  it  to 
please  me?" 

"Of  course,  I  mean  it,"  he  protested  indignantly. 
"I  wish  I  had  three." 

"I  mean,  are  you  sure  he'll  get  well?"  she  ex- 
plained, a  faint  smile  touching  her  wan  face. 

"Yes,  I  mean  that,  too,  but  right  now  I  mean 
the  beer  most.  Now,  honest,  haven't  I  earned  a 
beer?" 

"You've  earned  a  hundred  thousand,  doc.  You're 
the  kindest  and  dearest  man  that  ever  lived,"  she 
cried. 

"Ain't  that  rather  a  large  order,  my  dear?"  he 
protested  mildly.  "I  couldn't  really  use  a  hundred 
thousand.  And  I'd  hate  to  be  better  than  Job  and 
Moses  and  Pharaoh  and  them  Bible  characters. 
Wouldn't  I  have  to  give  up  chewing?  Somehow,  a 
halo  don't  seem  to  fit  my  haid.  It's  most  too  bald 
to  carry  one  graceful.  .  .  .  You  may  do  that 
again  if  you  want  to."  This  last,  apropos  of  the 
promised  reward  which  had  just  been  paM  in  full. 

Arlie  found  she  could  manage  a  little  laugh  by 
this  time. 

"Well,  if  you  ain't  going  to,  we  might  as  well 
go  in  and  have  a  look  at  that  false-alarm  patient  of 
ours,"  He  continued.  "We'll  have  to  sit  up  all  night 


256  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

with  him.  I  was  sixty-three  yesterday.  I'm  going 
to  quit  this  doctor  game.  I'm  too  old  to  go  racing 
round  the  country  nights  just  because  you  young 
folks  enjoy  shooting  each  other  up.  Yes,  ma'am, 
I'm  going  to  quit.  I  serve  notice  right  here.  What's 
the  use  of  having  a  good  ranch  and  some  cattle  if 
you  can't  enjoy  them?" 

As  the  doctor  had  been  serving  notice  of  his  in- 
tention to  quit  doctoring  for  over  ten  years,  Arlie 
did  not  take  him  too  seriously.  She  knew  him  for 
what  he  was — a  whimsical  old  fellow,  who  would 
drop  in  the  saddle  before  he  would  let  a  patient  suf- 
fer; one  of  the  old  school,  who  loved  his  work  but 
liked  to  grumble  over  it. 

"Maybe  you'll  be  able  to  take  a  rest  soon.  You 
know  that  young  doctor  from  Denver,  who  was 
talking  about  settling  here " 

This,  as  she  knew,  was  a  sore  point  with  him. 
"So  you're  tired  of  me,  are  you?  Want  a  new- 
fangled appendix  cutter  from  Denver,  do  you? 
Time  to  shove  old  Doc  Lee  aside,  eh  ?" 

"I  didn't  say  that,  doc,"  she  repented. 

"Huh !  You  meant  it.  Wonder  how  many  times 
he'd  get  up  at  midnight  and  plow  through  three- 
foot  snow  for  six  miles  to  see  the  most  ungrateful, 
squalling  little  brat " 

"Was  it  me,  doc?"  she  ungrammatically  de- 
manded. 

"It  was  you,  Miss  Impudence." 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  257 

They  had  reached  the  door,  but  she  held  him 
there  a  moment,  while  she  laughed  delightedly  and 
hugged  him.  "I  knew  it  was  me.  As  if  we'd  let 
our  old  doc  go,  or  have  anything  to  do  with  a 
young  ignoramus  from  Denver!  Didn't  you  know 
I  was  joking?  Of  course  you  did." 

He  still  pretended  severity.  "Oh,  I  know  you. 
When  it  comes  to  wheedling  an  old  fool,  you've  got 
the  rest  of  the  girls  in  this  valley  beat  to  a  fare- 
you-well." 

"Is  that  why  you  always  loved  me?"  she  asked, 
with  a  sparkle  of  mischief  in  her  eye. 

"I  didn't  love  you.  I  never  did.  The  idea!" 
he  snorted.  "I  don't  know  what  you  young  giddy 
pates  are  coming  to.  Huh!  Love  you!" 

"I'll  forgive  you,  even  if  you  did,"  she  told  him 
sweetly. 

"That's  it!  That's  it!"  he  barked.  "You  for- 
give all  the  young  idiots  when  they  do.  And  they 
all  do — every  last  one  of  them.  But  I'm  too  old 
for  you,  young  lady.  Sixty-three  yesterday.  Huh !" 

"I  like  you  better  than  the  younger  ones." 

"Want  us  all,  do  you?  Young  and  old  alike. 
Well,  count  me  out." 

He  broke  away,  and  went  into  the  house.  But 
there  was  an  unconquerably  youthful  smile  danc- 
ing in  his  eyes.  This  young  lady  and  he  had  made 
love  to  each  other  in  some  such  fashion  ever  since 
she  bad  b^en  a  year  old.  He  was  a  mellow  and, 


258  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

confirmed  old  bachelor,  but  he  proposed  to  con- 
tinue their  innocent  coquetry  until  he  was  laid 
away,  no  matter  which  of  the  young  bucks  of  the 
valley  had  the  good  fortune  to  win  her  for  a  wife* 


• 
CHAPTER  XI 

THE  FAT  IN   THE   FIRE 

For  two  days  Fraser  remained  in  the  cabin  of 
the  stockman  Howard,  France  making  it  his  busi- 
ness to  see  that  the  place  was  never  left  unguarded 
for  a  moment.  At  the  end  of  that  time  the  fever 
had  greatly  abated,  and  he  was  doing  so  well  that 
Doctor  Lee  decided  it  would  be  better  to  move  him 
to  the  Dillon  ranch  for  the  convenience  of  all 
parties. 

This  was  done,  and  the  patient  continued  steadily 
to  improve.  His  vigorous  constitution,  helped  by 
the  healthy,  clean,  outdoor  life  he  had  led,  stood 
him  in  good  stead.  Day  by  day  he  renewed  the 
blood  he  had  lost.  Soon  he  was  eating  prodigious 
dinners,  and  between  meals  was  drinking  milk  with 
an  egg  beaten  in  it. 

On  a  sunny  forenoon,  when  he  lay  in  the  big 
window  of  the  living  room,  reading  a  magazine, 
Arlie  entered,  a  newspaper  in  her  hand.  Her  eyes 
were  strangely  bright,  even  for  her,  and  she  had  a 
manner  of  repressed  excitement.  Her  face  was  al- 
most colorless. 

"Here's  some  more  in  the  Avalanche  about  our 

259 


a6o  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

adventure  near  Gimlet  Butte,"  she  told  him,  wav- 
ing the  paper. 

,  "Nothing  like  keeping  in  the  public  eye,"  said 
Steve,  grinning.  "I  don't  reckon  our  little  picnic 
at  Bald  Knob  is  likely  to  get  in  the  Avalanche, 
though.  It  probably  hasn't  any  correspondent  at 
Lost  Valley.  Anyhow,  I'm  hoping  not." 

"Mr.  Fraser,  there  is  something  in  this  paper  I 
want  you  to  explain.  But  tell  me  first  when  it  was 
you  shot  this  man  Faulkner.  I  mean  at  just  what 
time  in  the  fight." 

"Why,  I  reckon  it  must  have  been  just  before  I 
ducked." 

"That's  funny,  too."  She  fixed  her  direct,  fear- 
less gaze  on  him.  "The  evidence  at  the  coroner's 
jury  shows  that  it  was  in  the  early  part  of  the 
fight  he  was  shot,  before  father  and  I  left  you" 

"No,  that  couldn't  have  been,  Miss  Arlie,  be- 
tause " 

"Because- "  she  prompted,  smiling  at  him  in 

a  peculiar  manner. 

He  flushed,  and  could  only  say  that  the  news- 
papers were  always  getting  things  wrong.  • 

"But  this  is  the  evidence  at  the  coroner's  in- 
quest," she  said,  falling  grave  again  on  the  instant. 
"I  understand  one  thing  now,  very  clearly,  and  that 
is  that  Faulkner  was  killed  early  in  the  fight,  and 
the  other  man  was  wounded  in  the  ankle  near  the 
fimsh." 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  261 

He  shook  his  head  obstinately.  "No,  I  reckon 
not." 

"Yet  it  is  true.  What's  more,  you  knew  it  all 
the  time." 

"You  ce'tainly  jump  to  conclusions,  Miss  Arlie." 

"And  you  let  them  arrest  you,  without  telling 
them  the  truth !  And  they  came  near  lynching  you ! 
And  there's  a  warrant  out  now  for  your  arrest  for 
the  murder  of  Faulkner,  while  all  the  time  1  killed 
him,  and  you  knew  it!" 

He  gathered  together  his  lame  defense.  "You 
run  ahaid  too  fast  for  me,  ma'am.  Supposing  he 
was  hit  while  we  were  all  there  together,  how  was 
I  to  know  who  did  it?" 

"You  knew  it  couldn't  have  been  you,  for  ^e 
wasn't  struck  with  a  revolver.  It  couldn't  have 
been  dad,  since  he  had  his  shotgun  loaded  with 
buckshot." 

"What  difference  did  it  make?"  he  wanted  to 
know  impatiently.  "Say  I'd  have  explained  till 
kingdom  come  that  I  borrowed  the  rifle  from  a 
friend  five  minutes  after  Faulkner  was  h^ — would 
anybody  have  believed  me?  Would  it  huve  made 
a  bit  of  difference?" 

Her  shining  eyes  were  more  eloquent  than  a  thou- 
sand tongues.  "I  don't  say  it  would,  but  there  was 
always  the  chance.  You  didn't  take  it.  Yo«  would 
have  let  them  hang  you,  without  speaking  the  word 
that  brought  me  into  it.  Why?" 


262  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

,  "I'm  awful  obstinate  when  I  get  my  back  up/* 
he  smiled. 

"That  wasn't  it.  You  did  it  to  save  a  girl  you 
had  never  seen  but  once.  I  want  to  know  why." 

"All  right.  Have  it  your  own  way.  But  don't 
ask  me  to  explain  the  whyfors.  I'm  no  Harvard 
professor." 

"I  know,"  she  said  softly.  She  was  not  looking 
at  him,  but  out  of  the  window,  and  there  were  tears 
in  her  voice. 

"Sho !  Don't  make  too  much  of  it.  We'll  let  it 
go  that  I  ain't  all  coyote,  after  all.  But  that  don't 
entitle  me  to  any  reward  of  merit.  Now,  don't  you 
cry,  Miss  Arlie.  Don't  you." 

She  choked  back  the  tears,  and  spoke  in  deep 
self-scorn.  "No !  You  don't  deserve  anything  ex- 
cept what  you've  been  getting  from  me — suspicion 
and  distrust  and  hard  words!  You  haven't  done 
anything  worth  speaking  of — just  broke  into  a 
quarrel  that  wasn't  yours,  at  the  risk  of  your  lite; 
then  took  it  on  your  shoulders  to  let  us  escape; 
and,  afterward,  when  you  were  captured,  refused  to 
drag  me  in,  because  I  happen  to  be  a  girl!  But 
it's  not  worth  mentioning  that  you  did  all  this  for 
i  strangers,  and  that  later  you  did  not  tell  even  me, 
because  you  knew  it  would  trouble  me  that  I  had 
killed  him,  though  in  self-defense.  And  to  think 
that  all  the  time  I've  been  full  of  hateful  suspicions 
about  you!  Oh,  you  don't  know  how  I  despise 
myself!" 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  263 

She  let  her  head  fall  upon  her  arm  on  the  table, 
and  sobbed. 

Eraser,  greatly  disturbed,  patted  gently  the  heavy 
coil  of  blue-black  hair. 

"Now,  don't  you,  Arlie ;  don't  you.  I  ain't  worth 
it.  Honest,  I  ain't.  I  did  what  it  was  up  to  me  to 
do.  Not  a  thing  more.  Dick  would  have  done  it. 
Any  of  the  boys  would.  Now,  let's  look  at  what 
you've  done  for  me." 

From  under  the  arm  a  muffled  voice  insisted  she 
had  done  nothing  but  suspect  him. 

"Hold  on,  girl.  Play  fair.  First  off  you  ride 
sixty  miles  to  help  me  when  I'm  hunted  right  hard. 
You  bring  me  to  your  home  in  this  valley  where 
strangers  ain't  over  and  above  welcome  just  now. 
You  learn  I'm  an  officer  and  still  you  look  out  for 
me  and  fight  for  me,  till  you  make  friends  for  me. 
It's  through  you  I  get  started  right  with  the  boys. 
On  your  say-so  they  give  me  the  glad  hand.  You 
learn  I've  lied  to  you,  and  two  or  three  hours  later 
you  save  my  life.  You  sit  there  steady,  with  my 
haid  in  your  lap,  while  some  one  is  plugging  away 
at  us.  You  get  me  to  a  house,  take  care  of  my 
wounds,  and  hold  the  fort  alone  in  the  night  till 
help  comes.  Not  only  that,  but  you  drive  my 
enemy  away.  Later,  you  bring  me  home,  and 
nurse  me  like  I  was  a  long-lost  brother.  What  I 
did  for  you  ain't  in  the  same  class  with  what  you've 
done  for  me." 

"But  I  was  suspicious  of  you  all  the  time." 


264  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

"So  you  had  a  right  to  be.  That  ain't  the  point, 
which  is  that  a  girl  did  all  that  for  a  man  she 
thought  might  be  an  enemy  and  a  low-down  spy. 
Men  are  expected  to  take  chances  like  I  did,  but 
girls  ain't.  You  took  'em.  If  I  lived  a  thousand 
years,  I  couldn't  tell  you  all  the  thanks  I  feel." 

"Ah !  It  makes  it  worse  that  you're  that  kind  of 
a  man.  But  I'm  going  to  show  you  whether  I 
trust  you."  Her  eyes  were  filled  with  the  glad 
light  of  her  resolve.  She  spoke  with  a  sort  of 
proud  humility.  "Do  you  know,  there  was  a  time 
when  I  thought  you  might  have — I  didn't  really  be- 
lieve it,  but  I  thought  it  just  possible — that  you 
might  have  come  here  to  get  evidence  against  the 
Squaw  Creek  raiders?  You'll  despise  me,  but  it's 
the  truth." 

His  face  lost  color.  "And  now?"  he  asked 
quietly. 

"Now?  I  would  as  soon  suspect  my  father — 
or  myself!  I'll  show  you  what  I  think.  The  men 
in  it  were  Jed  Briscoe  and  Yorky  and  Dick 

France " 

•      "Stop,"  he  cried  hoarsely. 

"Is  it  your  wound?"  she  said  quickly. 

"No.    That's  all  right.    But  you  musn't  tell " 

"I'm  telling,  to  show  whether  I  trust  you.  Jed 
and  Yorky  and  Dick  and  Slim— — " 

She  stopped  to  listen.  Her  father's  voice  was 
calling  her.  She  rose  from  her  seat. 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  265 

"Wait  a  moment.  There's  something  I've  got  to 
tell  you,"  the  Texari  groaned. 

"I'll  be  back  in  a  moment.  Dad  wants  to  see 
me  about  some  letters." 

And  with  that  she  was  gone.  Whatever  the  busi- 
ness was,  it  detained  her  longer  than  she  expected. 
The  minutes  slipped  away,  and  still  she  did  not  re- 
turn. A  step  sounded  in  the  hall,  a  door  opened, 
and  Jed  Briscoe  stood  before  him. 

"You're  here,  are  you?"  he  said. 

The  Texan  measured  looks  with  him.  "Yes,  I'm 
here." 

"Grand-standing  still,  I  reckon." 

"If  you  could  only  learn  to  mind  your  own  af- 
fairs," the  Texan  suggested  evenly. 

"You'll  wish  I  could  before  I'm  through  with 
you." 

"Am  I  to  thank  you  for  that  little  courtesy  from 
Bald  Knob  the  other  evening?" 

"Not  directly.  At  three  hundred  yards,  I  could 
have  shot  a  heap  straighter  than  that.  The  fool 
must  have  been  drunk." 

"You'll  have  to  excuse  him.  It  was  beginning 
to  get  dark.  His  intentions  were  good." 

There  was  a  quick  light  step  behind  him,  and 
Arlie  came  into  the  room.  She  glanced  quickly 
from  one  to  the  other,  and  there  was  apprehension 
in  her  look. 

"I've  come  to  see  Lieutenant  Fraser  on  business," 


266  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

Briscoe  explained,  with  an  air  patently  triumphant. 

Arlie  made  no  offer  to  leave  the  room.  "He's 
hardly  up  to  business  yet,  is  he?"  she  asked,  as 
carelessly  as  she  could. 

"Then  we'll  give  it  another  name.  I'm  making 
a  neighborly  call  to  ask  how  he  is,  and  to  return 
some  things  he  lost." 

Jed's  hand  went  into  his  pocket  and  drew  forth 
leisurely  a  photograph.  This  he  handed  to  Arlie 
right  side  up,  smiling  the  while,  with  a  kind  of 
masked  deviltry. 

"Found  it  in  Alec  Howard's  cabin.  Seems  your 
coat  was  hanging  over  the  back  of  a  chair,  lieuten- 
ant, and  this  and  a  paper  fell  out.  One  of  the  boys 
must  have  kicked  it  to  one  side,  and  it  was  over- 
looked. Later,  I  ran  across  it.  So  I'm  bringing  it 
back  to  you." 

In  spite  of  herself  Arlie's  eyes  fell  to  the  photo- 
graph. It  was  a  snapshot  of  the  ranger  and  a  very 
attractive  young  woman.  They  were  smiling  into 
each  other's  eyes  with  a  manner  of  perfect  and 
friendly  understanding.  To  see  it  gave  Arlie  a 
pang.  Flushing  at  her  mistake,  she  turned  the  card 
over  and  handed  it  to  the  owner. 

"Sorry.  I  looked  without  thinking,"  she  said  in 
a  low  voice. 

Fraser  nodded  his  acceptance  of  her  apology,  but 
his  words  and  his  eyes  were  for  his  enemy.  "You 
mentioned  something  else  you  had  found,  seems 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  267 

Behind  drooping  eyelids  Jed  was  malevolently 
feline.  "Seems  to  me  I  did." 

From  his  pocket  came  slowly  a  folded  paper. 
He  opened  and  looked  it  over  at  leisure  before  his 
mocking  eyes  lifted  again  to  the  wounded  man. 
"This  belongs  to  you,  too,  but  I  know  you'll  ex- 
cuse me  if  I  keep  it  to  show  to  the  boys  before  re- 
turning it." 

"So  you've  read  it,"  Arlie  broke  in  scornfully. 

He  grinned  at  her,  and  nodded.  "Yes,  I've  read 
it,  my  dear.  I  had  to  read  it,  to  find  out  whose  it 
was.  Taken  by  and  large,  it's  a  right  interesting 
document,  too." 

He  smiled  at  the  ranger  maliciously,  yet  with  a 
certain  catlike  pleasure  in  tormenting  his  victim. 
Arlie  began  to  feel  a  tightening  of  her  throat,  a 
sinking  of  the  heart.  But  Fraser  looked  at  the  man 
with  a  quiet,  scornful  steadfastness.  He  knew 
what  was  coming,  and  had  decided  upon  his  course. 

"Seems  to  be  a  kind  of  map,  lieutenant.  Here's 
Gimlet  Butte  and  the  Half  Way  House  and  Sweet- 
water  Dam  and  the  blasted  pine.  Looks  like  it 
might  be  a  map  from  the  Butte  to  this  part  of  the 
country.  Eh,  Mr.  Fraser  from  Texas?" 

"And  if  it  is?" 

"Then  I  should  have  to  ask  you  how  you  come 
by  it,  seeing  as  the  map  is  drawn  on  Sheriff 
Brandt's  official  stationery,"  Jed  rasped  swiftly. 

"I  got  it  from  Sheriff  Brandt,  Mr.  Briscoe,  since 
you  want  to  know.  You're  not  entitled  to  the  in- 


268  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

formation,  but  I'll  make  you  a  gift  of  it.  He  gave 
it  to  me  to  guide  me  here." 

Even  Briscoe  was  taken  aback.  He  had  ex- 
pected evasion,  denial,  anything  but  a  bold  accept- 
ance of  his  challenge.  His  foe  watched  the  wari- 
ness settle  upon  him  by  the  narrowing  of  his  eyes. 

"So  the  sheriff  knew  you  were  coming?" 

"Yes." 

"I  thought  you  broke  jail.  That  was  the  story 
I  had  dished  up  to  me." 

"I  did,  with  the  help  of  the  sheriff." 

"Oh,  with  the  help  of  the  sheriff?  Come  to  think 
of  it,  that  sounds  right  funny — a  sheriff  helping  his 
prisoner  to  escape." 

"Yet  it  is  true,  as  it  happens." 

"I  don't  doubt  it,  lieutenant.  Fact  is,  I  had  some 
such  notion  all  the  time.  Now,  I  wonder  why-for 
he  took  so  friendly  an  interest  in  you." 

"I  had  a  letter  of  introduction  to  him  from  a 
friend  in  Texas.  When  he  knew  who  I  was,  he 
decided  he  couldn't  afford  to  have  me  lynched  with- 
out trying  to  save  me." 

"I  see.    And  the  map?" 

"This  was  the  only  part  of  the  country  in  which 
I  would  be  safe  from  capture.  He  knew  I  had  a 
claim  on  some  of  the  Cedar  Mountain  people,  be- 
cause it  was  to  help  them  I  had  got  into  trouble." 

"Yes,  I  can  see  that."  Arlie  nodded  quickly. 
"Of  course,  that  is  just  what  the  sheriff  would 
think." 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  269 

"Folks  can  always  see  what  they  want  to,  Arlie," 
Jed  commented.  "Now,  I  can't  see  all  that,  by  a 
lot." 

"It  isn't  necessary  you  should,  Mr.  Briscoe," 
Fraser  retorted. 

"Or  else  I  see  a  good  deal  more,  lieutenant," 
Jed  returned,  with  his  smooth  smile.  "Mebbe  the 
sheriff  helped  you  on  your  way  because  you're  such 
a  gotxl  detective.  He's  got  ambitions,  Brandt  has. 
So  has  Hilliard,  the  prosecuting  attorney.  Happen 
to  see  him,  by  the  way?" 

"Yes." 

Jed  nodded.  "I  figured  you  had.  Yes,  it  would 
be  Hilliard  worked  the  scheme  out,  I  expect." 

"You're  a  good  deal  of  a  detective  yourself,  Mr. 
Briscoe,"  the  Texan  laughed  hardily.  "Perhaps  I 
could  get  you  a  job  in  the  rangers." 

"There  may  be  a  vacancy  there  soon,"  Jed 
agreed. 

"What's  the  use  of  talking  that  way,  Jed?  Are 
you  threatening  Mr.  Fraser?  If  anything  happens 
to  him,  I'll  remember  this,"  Arlie  told  him. 

"Have  I  mentioned  any  threats,  Arlie  ?  It  is  well 
known  that  Lieutenant  Fraser  has  enemies  here.  It 
don't  take  a  prophet  to  tell  that,  after  what  hap- 
pened the  other  night." 

"Any  more  than  it  takes  a  prophet  to  tell  that 
you  are  one  of  them." 

"I  play  my  own  hand.  I  don't  lie  down  before" 
him,  or  any  other  man.  He'd  better  not  get  in  my 


27Q  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

way,   unless   he's  sure  he's  a  better  man  than  I 


am." 


"But  he  isn't  in  your  way,"  Arlie  insisted.  "He 
has  told  a  plain  story.  I  believe  every  word  of  it." 

"I  notice  he  didn't  tell  any  of  his  plain  story  until 
we  proved  it  on  him.  He  comes  through  with  his 
story  after  he's  caught  with  the  goods.  Don't  you 
know  that  every  criminal  that  is  caught  has  a 
smooth  explanation?" 

"I  haven't  any  doubt  Mr.  Briscoe  will  have  one 
when  his  turn  comes,"  the  ranger  remarked. 

Jed  wheeled  on  him.  His  eyes  glittered  menace. 
"You've  said  one  word  too  much.  I'll  give  you 
forty-eight  hours  to  get  out  of  this  valley." 

"How  dare  you,  Jed — and  in  my  house!"  Arlie 
cried.  "I  won't  have  it.  I  won't  have  blood  shed 
between  you." 

"It's  up  to  him,"  answered  the  cattleman,  his  jaw 
set  like  a  vise.  "Persuade  him  to  git  out,  and 
there'll  be  no  blood  shed." 

"You  have  no  right  to  ask  it  of  him.  You  ought 

not "  She  stopped,  aware  of  the  futility  of 

urging  a  moral  consideration  upon  the  man,  and  fell 
back  upon  the  practical.  "He  couldn't  travel  that 
soon,  even  if  he  wanted  to.  He's  not  strong 
enough.  You  know  that." 

"All  right.  We'll  call  it  a  week.  If  he's  still 
here  a  week  from  to-day,  there  will  be  trouble." 

With  that,  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  left  the 
room.  They  heard  his  spurs  trailing  across  the 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  271 

porch  and  jingling  down  the  steps,  after  which  they 
caught  a  momentary  vision  of  hinv  dark  and  sin- 
ister, as  his  horse  flashed  past  the  window. 

The  ranger  smiled,  but  rather  seriously.  "The 
fat's  in  the  fire  now,  sure  enough,  ma'am." 

She  turned  anxiously  upon  him.  "Why  did  you 
tell  him  all  that?  Why  did  you  let  him  go  away, 
believing  you  were  here  as  a  spy  to  trap  him  and  his 
friends?" 

"I  let  him  have  the  truth.  Anyhow,  I  couldn't 
have  made  good  with  a  denial.  He  had  the  evi- 
dence. I  can't  keep  him  from  believing  what  he 
wants  to." 

"He'll  tell  all  his  friends.  He'll  exaggerate  the 
facts  and  stir  up  sentiment  against  you.  He'll  say 
you  came  here  as  a  detective,  to  get  evidence  against 
the  Squaw  Creek  raiders." 

"Then  he'll  tell  the  truth!" 

She  took  it  in  slowly,  with  a  gathering  horror. 
"The  truth !"  she  repeated,  almost  under  her  breath. 

"You  don't  mean You  can't  mean Are 

you  here  as  a  spy  upon  my  friends?" 

"I  didn't  know  they  were  your  friends  when  I 
took  the  job.  If  you'll  listen,  I'll  explain." 

Words  burst  from  her  in  gathering  bitterness. 

"What  is  there  to  explain,  sir?  The  facts  cry  to 
heaven.  I  brought  you  into  this  valley,  gave  you 
the  freedom  of  our  home  against  my  father's  first 
instinct.  I  introduced  you  to  my  friends,  and  no 
doubt  they  told  you  much  you  wanted  to  know. 


272,  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

They  are  simple,  honest  folks,  who  don't  know  a 
spy  when  they  see  one.  And  I — fool  that  I  am — 
I  vouched  for  you.  More,  I  stood  between  you  and 
the  fate  you  deserved.  And,  lastly,  in  my  blind 
conceit,  I  have  told  you  the  names  of  the  men  in 
the  Squaw  Creek  trouble.  If  I  had  only  known — 
and  I  had  all  the  evidence,  but  I  was  so  blind  I 
would  not  see  you  were  a  snake  in  the  grass." 

He  put  out  a  hand  to  stop  her,  and  she  drew 
back  as  if  his  touch  were  pollution.  From  the  other 
side  of  the  room,  she  looked  across  at  him  in  bitter 
scorn. 

"I  shall  make  arrangements  to  have  you  taken 
out  of  the  valley  at  once,  sir." 

"You  needn't  take  the  trouble,  Miss  Arlie.  I'm 
not  going  .out  of  the  valley.  If  you'll  have  me 
taken  to  Alec  Howard's  shack,  which  is  where  you 
brought  me  from,  I'll  be  under  obligations  to  you." 

"Whatever  you  are,  I'm  not  going  to  have  your 
blood  on  my  hands.  You've  got  to  leave  the 
valley." 

"I  have  to  thank  you  for  all  your  kindness  to 
me.  If  you'd  extend  it  a  trifle  further  and  listen  to 
what  I've  got  to  say,  I'd  be  grateful." 

"I  don't  care  to  hear  your  excuses.  Go  quickly, 
sir,  before  you  meet  the  end  you  deserve,  and  give 
up  the  poor  men  I  have  betrayed  to  you."  She 
spoke  in  a  choked  voice,  as  if  she  could  scarce 
breathe. 

"If  you'd  only  listen  before  you " 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  273 

"I've  listened  to  you  too  long.  I  was  so  sure  I 
knew  more  than  my  father,  than  my  friends,  I'll 
listen  no  more." 

The  Texan  gave  it  up.  "All  right,  ma'am.  Just 
as  you  say.  If  you'll  order  some  kind  of  a  rig  for 
me,  I'll  not  trouble  you  longer.  I'm  sorry  that  it's 
got  to  be  this  way.  Maybe  some  time  you'll  see  it 
different." 

"Never,"  she  flashed  passionately,  and  fled  from 
the  room. 

He  did  not  see  her  again  before  he  left.  Bobbie 
came  to  get  him  in  a  light  road  trap  they  had.  The 
boy  looked  at  him  askance,  as  if  he  knew  something 
was  wrong.  Presently  they  turned  a  corner  and 
left  the  ranch  shut  from  sight  in  a  fold  of  the  hills. 

At  the  first  division  of  the  road  Fraser  came  to 
a  difference  of  opinion  with  Bobbie. 

"Arlie  said  you  was  going  to  leave  the  valley. 
She  told  me  I  was  to  take  you  to  Speed's  place." 

"She  misunderstood.  I  am  going  to  Alec  How- 
ard's." 

"But  that  ain't  what  she  told  me." 

Steve  took  the  reins  from  him,  and  turned  into 
the  trail  that  led  to  Howard's  place.  "You  can  ex- 
plain to  her,  Bobbie,  that  you  couldn't  make  me 
see  it  that  way." 

An  hour  later,  he  descended  upon  Howard — a 
big,  rawboned  ranchman,  who  had  succumbed 
quickly  to  a  deep  friendship  for  this  "Admirable 
Crichton"  of  the  plains. 


274  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

"Hello,  Steve !  Glad  to  death  to  see  you.  Hope 
you've  come  to  stay,  you  old  pie  eater,"  he  cried 
joyously,  at  sight  of  the  Texan. 

Fraser  got  down.  "Wait  here  a  moment,  Bob- 
bie. I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  Alec.  I  may  go 
on  with  you." 

They  went  into  the  cabin,  and  Fraser  sat  down. 
He  was  still  far  from  strong. 

"What's  up,  Steve?"  the  rancher  asked. 

"You  asked  me  to  stay,  Alec.  Before  I  say 
whether  I  will  or  not,  I've  got  a  story  to  tell  you. 
After  I've  told  it,  you  can  ask  me  again  if  you  want 
me  to  stop  with  you.  If  you  don't  ask  me,  I'll 
ride  off  with  the  boy." 

"All  right.  Fire  ahead,  old  hoss.  I'll  ask  you 
fast  enough." 

The  Texan  told  his  story  from  the  beginning. 
Only  one  thing  he  omitted — that  Arlie  had  told  him 
the  name  of  the  Squaw  Creek  raiders. 

"There  are  the  facts,  Alec.  You've  got  them 
from  beginning  to  end.  It's  up  to  you.  Do  you 
want  me  here  ?" 

"Before  I  answer  that,  I'll  have  to  put  a  ques- 
tion myse'f,  Steve.  Why  do  you  want  to  stay? 
Why  not  leave  the  valley  while  you're  still  able  to  ?" 

"Because  Jed  Briscoe  put  it  up  to  me  that  I'd  got 
to  leave  within  a  week.  I'll  go  when  I'm  good  and 
ready." 

Alec  nodded  his  appreciation  of  the  point.  "Sure. 
You  don't  want  to  sneak  out,  with  yore  tail  betwixt 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  275 

yore  laigs.  That  brings  up  another  question,  Steve. 
What  about  the  Squaw  Creek  sheep  raiders?  Just 
for  argument,  we'll  put  it  that  some  of  them  are 
my  friends.  You  understand — just  for  argument. 
Are  you  still  aiming  to  run  them  down  ?" 

Fraser  met  his  frank  question  frankly.  "No, 
Alec,  I've  had  to  give  up  that  notion  long  since — 
soon  as  I  began  to  guess  they  were  friends  of  Miss 
Arlie.  I'm  going  back  to  tell  Hilliard  so.  But  I 
ain't  going  to  be  run  out  by  Briscoe." 

"Good  enough.  Put  her  there,  son.  This  shack's 
yore  home  till  hell  freezes  over,  Steve." 

"You  haven't  any  doubts  about  me,  Alec.  If 
you  have,  better  say  so  now." 

"Doubts?  I  reckon  not.  Don't  I  know  a  man 
when  I  see  one?  I'm  plumb  surprised  at  Arlie." 
He  strode  to  the  door,  and  called  to  Bobbie:  "Roll 
along  home,  son.  Yore  passenger  is  going  to  stay 
a  spell  with  me." 

"Of  course,  I  understand  what  this  means,  Alec. 
Jed  and  his  crowd  aren't  going  to  be  any  too  well 
pleased  when  they  learn  you  have  taken  me  in. 
They  may  make  you  trouble,"  the  ranger  said. 

The  big  cow  man  laughed.  "Oh,  cut  it  out, 
Steve.  Jed  don't  have  to  O.  K.  my  guest  list.  Not 
on  yore  life.  I'm  about  ready  for  a  ruction  with 
that  young  man,  anyway.  He's  too  blamed  bossy. 
I  ain't  wearing  his  brand.  Fact  is,  I  been  having 
notions  this  valley  has  been  suffering  from  too 
tnuch  Briscoe.  Others  are  sharing  that  opinion 


276  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

with  me,  Ask  Dick  France.  Ask  Arlie,  for  that 
matter/' 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  off  that  young  lady's  list  of 
friends." 

"Sho !  She'll  come  round.  She's  some  hot-haided. 
It  always  was  her  way  to  get  mad  first,  and  find 
out  why  afterward.  But  don't  make  any  mistake 
about  her,  Steve.  She's  the  salt  of  the  earth,  Arlie 
Dillon  is.  She  figured  it  out  you  wasn't  playing  it 
quite  on  the  square  with  her.  Onct  she's  milled  it 
around  a  spell,  she'll  see  things  different.  I've 
knowed  her  since  she  was  knee-high,  and  I  tell  you 
she's  a  game  little  thoroughbred." 

The  Texan  looked  at  him  a  moment,  then  stared 
out  of  the  window. 

"We  won't  quarrel  about  that  any,  Alec.  I'll 
indorse  those  sentiments,  and  then  some,  even  if 
she  did  call  me  a  snake  in  the  grass." 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  DANCE 

\ 

The  day  after  Fraser  changed  his  quarters,  Dick 
France  rode  up  to  the  Howard  ranch.  Without 
alighting,  he  nodded  casually  to  Alec,  and  then  to 
his  guest. 

"Hello,  Steve!     How's  the  shoulder?" 

"Fine  and  dandy." 

"You  moved,  I  see."    The  puncher  grinned. 

"If  you  see  it  for  yourself,  I'll  not  attempt  to 
deny  it." 

"Being  stood  in  the  corner  some  more,  looks 
like !  Little  Willie  been  telling  some  more  lies  ?" 

"Come  in,  Dick,  and  I'll  put  you  wise." 

Steve  went  over  the  story  again.  When  he  men- 
tioned the  Squaw  Creek  raid,  he  observed  that  his 
two  friends  looked  quickly  at  each  other  and  then 
away.  He  saw,  however,  that  Dick  took  his  pledge 
in  regard  to  the  raiders  at  face  value,  without  the 
least  question  of  doubt.  He  made  only  one  com- 
ment on  the  situation. 

"If  Jed  has  served  notice  that  he's  going  after 
you,  Steve,  he'll  ce'tainly  back  the  play.  What's 

277 


278  'A    TEXAS  RANGER 

more,  he  won't  be  any  too  particular  how  he  gets 
you,  just  so  he  gets  you.  He  may  come  a-shoot- 
ing  in  the  open.  Then,  again,  he  may  not.  All 
according  to  how  the  notion  strikes  him." 

"That's  about  it,"  agreed  Howard. 

"While  it's  fresh  on  my  mind,  I'll  unload  some 
more  comfort.  You've  got  an  enemy  in  this  val- 
ley you  don't  know  about." 

"The  one  that  shot  me?" 

"I  ain't  been  told  that.  I  was  to  say,  'One  enmiy 
more  than  he  knows  of.' " 

"Who  told  you  to  say  it?" 

"I  was  to  forget  to  tell  you  that,  Steve." 

"Then  I  must  have  a  friend  more  than  I  know 
of,  too." 

"I  ain't  so  sure  about  that.  You  might  call  her 
a  hostile  friend." 

"It's  a  lady,  then.     I  can  guess  who." 

"Honest,  I  didn't  mean  to  tell  you,  Steve.  It 
slipped  out." 

"I  won't  hold  it  against  you." 

"She  sent  for  me  last  night,  and  this  morning  I 
dropped  round.  Now,  what  do  you  reckon  she 
wanted  with  me?" 

"Give  it  up." 

"I'm  to  take  a  day  off  and  ride  around  among 
the  boys,  so  as  to  see  them  before  Jed  does.  I'm 
to  load  'em  up  with  misrepresentations  about  how 
you  and  the  sheriff  happen  to  be  working  in  ca- 
hoots. I  gathered  that  the  lady  is  through  with 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  279 

you,  but  she  don't  want  your  scalp  collected  by 
the  boys." 

"I'm  learning  to  be  thankful  for  small  favors," 
Fraser  said  dryly.  "She  figures  me  up  a  skunk, 
but  hates  to  have  me  massacreed  in  her  back  yard. 
Ain't  that  about  it,  Dick?" 

"Somewheres  betwixt  and  between,"  France 
nodded.  "Say,  you  lads  going  to  the  dance  at 
Millikan's?" 

"Didn't  know  there  was  one." 

"Sure.  Big  doings.  Monday  night.  Always 
have  a  dance  after  the  spring  round-up.  Jed  and 
his  friends  will  be  there — that  ought  to  fetch  you !" 
Dick  grinned. 

"I  haven't  noticed  any  pressing  invitation  to  my 
address  yet,"  said  Steve. 

"I'm  extending  it  right  now.  Millikan  told  me 
to  pass  the  word  among  the  boys.  Everybody  and 
his  neighbor  invited."  Dick  lit  a  cigar,  and  gath- 
ered up  his  reins.  "So-long,  boys.  I  got  to  be 
going."  Over  his  shoulder  he  fired  another  joyous 
shot  as  he  cantered  away.  "I  reckon  that  hostile 
friend  will  be  there,  too,  Steve,  if  that's  any  in- 
ducement." 

Whether  it  was  an  inducement  is  not  a  matter 
of  record,  but  certain  it  is  that  the  Texan  found 
it  easy  to  decide  to  go.  Everybody  in  the  valley 
would  be  there,  and  absence  on  his  part  would  be 
construed  as  weakness,  even  as  a  confession  of 
guilt.  He  had  often  observed  that  a  man's  friends 


28o  'A    TEXAS  RANGER 

are  strong  for  him  only  when  he  is  strong  for 
himself. 

Howard  and  his  guest  drove  to  Millikan's  Draw, 
for  the  wound  of  the  latter  was  still  too  new  to 
stand  so  long  a  horseback  ride.  They  arrived  late, 
.and  the  dance  was  already  in  full  swing.  As  they 
stabled  and  fed  the  team,  they  could  hear  the  high 
notes  of  the  fiddles  and  the  singsong  chant  of  the 
caller. 

"Alemane  left.  Right  han'  t'yer  pardner,  an* 
gran'  right  and  left.  Ev-v-rybody  swing." 

The  ranch  house  was  a  large  one,  the  most  pre- 
tentious in  the  valley.  A  large  hall  opened  into  a 
living  room  and  a  dining  room,  by  means  of  large 
double  doors,  which  had  been  drawn  back,  so  as  to 
make  one  room  of  them. 

As  they  pushed  their  way  through  the  crowd  of 
rough  young  fellows  who  clustered  round  the  door, 
as  if  afraid  their  escape  might  be  cut  off,  Fraser 
observed  that  the  floor  was  already  crowded  with 
dancers. 

The  quadrille  came  to  an  end  as  he  arrived,  and, 
after  they  had  seated  their  partners,  red-faced  per- 
spiring young  punchers  swelled  the  knot  around  the 
door. 

Alec  stayed  to  chaff  with  them,  while  the  Texan 
sauntered  across  the  floor  and  took  a  seat  on  one 
of  the  benches  which  lined  the  walls.  As  he  did 
so,  a  man  and  his  partner,  so  busy  in  talk  with  each 
other  that  they  had  not  observed  who  he  was,  sat 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  281 

down  beside  him  in  such  position  that  the  young 
woman  was  next  him.  Without  having  looked  di- 
rectly at  either  of  them,  Eraser  knew  that  the  girl 
was  Arlie  Dillon,  and  her  escort  Jed  Briscoe.  She 
had  her  back  half  turned  toward  him,  so  that,  even 
after  she  was  seated  she  did  not  recognize  her 
neighbor. 

Steve  smiled  pleasantly,  and  became  absorbed  in 
a  rather  noisy  bout  of  repartee  going  on  between 
one  swain  and  his  lass,  not  so  absorbed,  however, 
as  not  to  notice  that  he  and  his  unconscious  neigh- 
bors were  becoming  a  covert  focus  of  attention.  He 
had  already  noticed  a  shade  of  self-consciousness 
in  the  greeting  of  those  whom  he  met,  a  hint  of  a 
suggestion  that  he  was  on  trial.  Among  some  this 
feeling  was  evidently  more  pronounced.  He  met 
more  than  one  pair  of  eyes  that  gave  back  to  his 
genial  nod  cold  hostility. 

At  such  an  affair  as  this,  Jed  Briscoe  was  always 
at  his  best.  He  was  one  of  the  few  men  in  the  val- 
ley who  knew  how  to  waltz  well,  and  music  and 
rhythm  always  brought  out  in  him  a  gay  charm 
women  liked.  His  lithe  grace,  his  assurance,  his 
ease  of  manner  and  speech,  always  differentiated) 
him  from  the  other  ranchmen. 

No  wonder  rumor  had  coupled  his  name  with 
that  of  Arlie  as  her  future  husband.  He  knew  how 
to  make  light  love  by  implication,  to  skate  around 
the  subject  skilfully  and  boldly  with  innuendo  and 
suggestion. 


282  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

Arlie  knew  him  for  what  he  was — a  man  pas- 
sionate and  revengeful,  the  leader  of  that  side  of 
the  valley's  life  which  she  deplored.  She  did  not 
trust  him.  Nevertheless,  she  felt  his  fascination. 
He  made  that  appeal  to  her  which  a  graceless  young 
villain  often  does  to  a  good  woman  who  lets  her- 
self become  interested  in  trying  to  understand  the 
sinner  and  his  sins.  There  was  another  reason  why 
just  now  she  showed  him  special  favor.  She  wanted 
to  blunt  the  edge  of  his  anger  against  the  Texan 
ranger,  though  her  reason  for  this  she  did  not 
admit  even  to  herself. 

She  had — oh,  she  was  quite  sure  of  this — no 
longer  any  interest  in  Fraser  except  the  impersonal 
desire  to  save  his  life.  Having  thought  it  all  over, 
she  was  convinced  that  her  friends  had  nothing  to 
fear  from  him  as  a  spy.  That  was  what  he  had 
tried  to  tell  her  when  she  would  not  listen. 

Deep  in  her  heart  she  knew  why  she  had  not  list- 
ened. It  had  to  do  with  that  picture  of  a  pretty  girl 
smiling  up  happily  into  his  eyes — a  thing  she  had 
not  forgotten  for  one  waking  moment  since.  Like 
a  knife  the  certainty  had  stabbed  her  heart  that  they 
were  lovers.  Her  experience  had  been  limited.  Ko- 
daks had  not  yet  reached  Lost  Valley  as  common' 
possessions.  In  the  mountains  no  girl  had  her  pho- 
tograph taken  beside  a  man  unless  they  had  a  spe- 
cial interest  in  each  other.  And  the  manner  of  these 
two  had  implied  the  possession  of  a  secret  not 
known  to  the  world. 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  283 

So  Arlie  froze  her  heart  toward  the  Texan,  all 
the  more  because  he.  had  touched  her  girlish  imagi- 
nation to  sweet  hidden  dreams  of  which  her  inno- 
cence had  been  unnecessarily  ashamed.  He  had 
spoken  no  love  to  her,  nor  had  he  implied  it  ex- 
actly. There  had  been  times  she  had  thought  some- 
thing more  than  friendship  lay  under  his  warm 
smile.  But  now  she  scourged  herself  for  her  folly 
believed  she  had  been  unmaidenly,  and  set  her  heart 
to  be  like  flint  against  him.  She  had  been  ready 
to  give  him  what  he  had  not  wanted.  Before  she 
would  let  him  guess  it  she  would  rather  die,  a 
thousand  times  rather,  she  told  herself  passionately. 

She  presently  became  aware  that  attention  was 
being  directed  toward  her  and  Jed  and  somebody 
who  sat  on  the  other  side  of  her.  Without  looking 
round,  she  mentioned  the  fact  in  a  low  voice  to  her 
partner  of  the  dance  just  finished.  Jed  looked  up, 
and  for  the  first  time  observed  the  man  behind  her. 
Instantly  the  gayety  was  sponged  from  his  face. 

"Who  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"That  man  from  Texas." 

Arlie  felt  the  blood  sting  her  cheeks.  The  mu- 
sicians were  just  starting  a  waltz.  She  leaned 
slightly  toward  Jed,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice : 

"Did  you  ask  me  to  dance  this  with  you?" 

He  had  not,  but  he  did  now.  He  got  to  his  feet, 
with  shining  eyes,  and  whirled  her  off.  The  girl 
did  not  look  toward  the  Texan.  Nevertheless,  as 
they  ckded  the  room,  she  was  constantly  aware  of 


284  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

him.  Sitting  there,  with  a  smile  on  his  strong  face, 
apparently  unperturbed,  he  gave  no  hint  of  the 
stern  fact  that  he  was  circled  by  enemies,  any  one  of 
whom  might  carry  his  death  in  a  hip  pocket.  His 
gaze  was  serene,  unabashed,  even  amused. 

The  young  woman  was  irritably  suspicious  that 
he  found  her  anger  amusing,  just  as  he  seemed  to 
find  the  dangerous  position  in  which  he  was  placed. 
Yet  her  resentment  coexisted  with  a  sympathy  for 
him  that  would  not  down.  She  believed  he  was 
marked  for  death  by  a  coterie  of  those  present, 
chief  of  whom  was  the  man  smiling  down  into  her 
face  from  half-shut,  smouldering  eyes. 

Her  heart  was  a  flame  of  protest  against  their 
decree,  all  the  more  so  because  she  held  herself 
partly  responsible  for  it.  In  a  panic  of  repentance, 
she  had  told  Dick  of  her  confession  to  the  ranger 
of  the  names  of  the  Squaw  Creek  raiders,  and 
France  had  warned  his  confederates.  He  had  done 
this,  not  because  he  distrusted  Fraser,  but  because 
he  felt  it  was  their  due  to  get  a  chance  to  escape  if 
they  wanted  to  do  so. 

Always  a  creature  of  impulse,  Arlie  had  repented 
her  repentance  when  too  late.  Now  she  would 
have  fought  to  save  the  Texan,  but  the  horror  of 
it  was  that  she  could  not  guess  how  the  blow  would 
fall.  She  tried  to  believe  he  was  safe,  at  least  until 
-the  week  was  up. 

When  Dick  strolled  across  the  floor,  sat  dowt^ 
beside  Steve,  and  began  casually  to  chat  with  him, 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  285 

she  could  have  thanked  the  boy  with  tears.  It  was 
equivalent  to  a  public  declaration  of  his  intentions. 
At  least,  the  ranger  was  not  friendless.  One  of 
the  raiders  was  going  to  stand  by  him.  Besides 
Dick,  he  might  count  on  Howard;  perhaps  on 
others. 

Jed  was  in  high  good  humor.  All  along  the  line 
he  seemed  to  be  winning.  Arlie  had  discarded  this 
intruder  from  Texas  and  was  showing  herself 
very  friendly  to  the  cattleman.  The  suspicion  of 
Fraser  which  he  had  disseminated  was  bearing 
fruit ;  and  so,  more  potently,  was  the  word  the  girl 
had  dropped  incautiously.  He  had  only  to  wait 
in  order  to  see  his  rival  wiped  out.  So  that,  when 
Arlie  put  in  her  little  plea,  he  felt  it  would  not  cost 
him  anything  to  affect  a  large  generosity. 

"Let  him  go,  Jed.  He  is  discredited.  Folks  are 
all  on  their  guard  before  him  now.  He  can't  do 
any  harm  here.  Dick  says  he  is  only  waiting  out 
his  week  because  of  your  threat.  Don't  make 
trouble.  Let  him  sneak  back  home,  like  a  whipped 
cur,"  she  begged. 

"I  don't  want  any  trouble  with  him,  girl.  All 
I  ask  is  that  he  leave  the  valley.  Let  Dick  arrange 
that,  and  I'll  give  him  a  chance." 

She  thanked  him,  with  a  look  that  said  more 
than  words. 

It  was  two  hours  later,  when  she  was  waltzing 
with  Jed  again,  that  Arlie  caught  sight  of  a  face 
that  disturbed  her  greatly.  It  was  a  countenance 


286  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

disfigured  by  a  ragged  scar,  running  from  the 
bridge  of  the  nose.  She  had  last  seen  it  gazing 
into  the  window  of  Alec  Howard's  cabin  on  a  cer- 
tain never-to-be-forgotten  night. 

"Who  is  that  man — the  one  leaning  against  the 
door  jamb,  just  behind  Slim  Leroy?"  she  asked. 

"He's  a  fellow  that  calls  himself  Johnson.  His 
real  name  is  Struve,"  Jed  answered  carelessly. 

"He's  the  man  that  shot  the  Texas  lieutenant/' 
she  said. 

"I  dare  say.  He's  got  a  good  reason  for  shooting 
him.  The  man  broke  out  of  the  Arizona  peniten- 
tiary, and  Fraser  came  north  to  rearrest  him.  At 
least,  that's  .my  guess.  He  wouldn't  have  been  here 
to-night  if  he  hadn't  figured  Fraser  too  sick  to 
come.  Watch  him  duck  when  he  learns  the  ranger's 
here." 

At  the  first  opportunity  Arlie  signaled  to  Dick 
that  she  wanted  to  see  him.  Fraser,  she  observed, 
was  no  longer  in  the  dancing  rooms.  Dick  took  her 
out  from  the  hot  room  to  the  porch. 

"Let's  walk  a  little,  Dick.  I  want  to  tell  you 
something." 

They  sauntered  toward  the  fine  grove  of  pines 
that  ran  up  the  hillside  back  of  the  house. 

"Did  you  notice  that  man  with  the  scar,  Dick?"  j 
she  presently  asked. 

"Yes.  I  ain't  seen  him  before.  Must  be  one  of 
the  Rabbit  Run  guys,  I  take  it." 

"I've  seen  him.     He's  the  man  that  shot  your 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  287 

friend.  He  was  the  man  I  shot  at  when  he  looked 
in  the  window."  ^ 

"Sure,  Arlie?" 

"Dead  sure,  Dick.  He's  an  escaped  convict,  and 
he  has  a  grudge  at  your  friend.  He  is  afraid  of 
him,  too.  Look  out  for  Lieutenant  Fraser  to-night. 
Don't  let  him  wander  around  outside.  If  he  does, 
there  may  be  murder  done." 

Even  as  she  spoke,  there  came  a  sound  from 
the  wooded  hillside — the  sound  of  a  stifled  cry, 
followed  by  an  imprecation  and  the  heavy  shuffling 
of  feet. 

"Listen,  Dick!" 

For  an  instant  he  listened  Then:  "There's 
trouble  in  the  grove,  and  I'm  not  armed,"  he  cried. 

"Never  mind!  Go — go!"  she  shrieked,  pushing 
him  forward. 

For  herself,  she  turned,  and  ran  like  a  deer  for 
the  house. 

Siegfried  was  sitting  on  the  porch,  whittling  a 
stick. 

"They— they're  killing  Steve—in  the  grove/5 
she  panted. 

Without  a  word  he  rolled  off,  like  a  buffalo  cowt 
toward  the  scene  of  action. 

Arlie  pushed  into  the  house  and  called  for  Jed. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   WOLF   HOWLS 

As  Steve  strolled  out  into  the  moonlight,  he  left 
behind  him  the  monotonous  thumping  of  heavy  feet 
and  the  singsong  voice  of  the  caller. 

"Birdie  fly  out, 

Crow  hop  in, 
Join  all  hands 

And  circle  ag'in." 

came  to  him,  in  the  high,  strident  voice  of  Lute 
Perkins.  He  took  a  deep  breath  of  fresh,  clean  air, 
and  looked  about  him.  After  the  hot,  dusty  room, 
the  grove,  with  its  green  foliage,  through  which 
the  moonlight  filtered,  looked  invitingly  cool.  He 
sauntered  forward,  climbed  the  hill  up  which  the 
wooded  patch  straggled,  and  sat  down,  with  his  back 
to  a  pine. 

Behind  the  valley  rampart,  he  could  see  the  dim, 
saw-toothed  Teton  peaks,  looking  like  ghostly 
shapes  in  the  moonlight  The  night  was  peaceful. 
Faint  and  mellow  came  the  sound  of  jovial  romp- 
ing from  the  house;  otherwise,  beneath  the  distant 
stars,  a  perfect  stillness  held. 

How  long  he  sat  there,  letting  thoughts  happen 
288 


A   TEXAS  'RANGER  289 

dreamily  rather  than  producing  them  of  gray  mat- 
ter, he  did  not  know. .  A  slight  sound,  the  snapping 
of  a  twig,  brought  his  mind  to  alertness  without 
causing  the  slightest  movement  of  his  body. 

His  first  thought  was  that,  in  accordance  with 
dance  etiquette  in  the  ranch  country,  his  revolver 
was  in  its  holster  under  the  seat  of  the  trap  in  which 
they  had  driven  over.  Since  his  week  was  not  up, 
he  had  expected  no  attack  from  Jed  and  his  friends. 
As  for  the  enemy,  of  whom  Arlie  had  advised  him, 
surely  a  public  dance  was  the  last  place  to  tempt 
one  who  apparently  preferred  to  attack  from  cover. 
But  his  instinct  was  certain.  He  did  not  need  to 
look  round  to  know  he  was  trapped. 

"I'm  unarmed.  You'd  better  come  round  and 
shoot  me  from  in  front.  It  will  look  better  at  the 
inquest,"  he  said  quietly. 

"Don't  move.  You're  surrounded,"  a  voice 
answered. 

A  rope  snaked  forward  and  descended  over  the 
ranger's  head,  to  be  jerked  tight,  with  a  suddenness 
that  sent  a  pain  like  a  knife  thrust  through  the 
wounded  shoulder.  The  instinct  for  self-preserva- 
tion was  already  at  work  in  him.  He  fought  his 
left  arm  free  from  the  rope  that  pressed  it  to  his 
side,  and  dived  toward  the  figure  at  the  end  of  the 
rope.  Even  as  he  plunged,  he  found  time  to  be 
surprised  that  no  revolver  shot  echoed  through  the 
night,  and  to  know  that  the  reason  was  because  his 
enemies  preferred  to  do  their  work  in  silence. 


290  A   TEXAS  RANGER • 

The  man  upon  whom  he  leaped  gave  a  startled 
oath  and  stumbled  backward  over  a  root. 

Fraser,  his  hand  already  upon  the  man's  throat, 
went  down  too.  Upon  him  charged  men  from  all 
directions.  In  the  shadows,  they  must  have  ham- 
pered each  other,  for  the  ranger,  despite  his 
wound — his  shoulder  was  screaming  with  pain — 
got  to  his  knees,  and  slowly  from  his  knees  to  his 
feet,  shaking  the  clinging  bodies  from  him. 

Wrenching  his  other  hand  from  under  the  rope, 
he  fought  them  back  as  a  hurt  grizzly  does  the  wolf 
pack  gathered  for  the  kill.  None  but  a  very  power- 
ful man  could  ever  have  reached  his  feet.  None 
less  agile  and  sinewy  than  a  panther  could  have 
beaten  them  back  as  at  first  he  did.  They  fought 
in  grim  silence,  yet  the  grove  was  full  of  the 
sounds  of  battle.  The  heavy  breathing,  the  beat  of 
shifting  feet,  the  soft  impact  of  flesh  striking  flesh, 
the  thud  of  falling  bodies — of  these  the  air  was 
vocal.  Yet,  save  for  the  gasps  of  sudden  pain,  no 
man  broke  silence  save  once. 

"The  snake'll  get  away  yet!"  a  hoarse  voice 
cried,  not  loudly,  but  with  an  emphasis  that  in- 
dicated strong  conviction. 

Impossible  as  it  seemed,  the  ranger  might  have 
done  it  Ijut  for  an  accident.  In  the  struggle,  the 
rope  had  slipped  to  a  point  just  below  his  knees. 
Fighting  his  way  down  the  hill,  foot  by  foot,  the 
Texan  felt  the  rope  tighten.  One  of  his  attackers 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  291 

flung  himself  against  his  chest  and  he  was  tripped. 
The  pack  was  on  hirn  again.  Here  there  was  more 
light,  and  though  for  a  time  the  mass  swayed  back 
and  forth,  at  last  they  hammered  him  down  by 
main  strength.  He  was  bound  hand  and  foot,  and 
dragged  back  to  the  grove. 

They  faced  their  victim,  panting  deeply  from 
their  exertions.  Fraser  looked  round  upon  the  cir- 
cle of  distorted  faces,  and  stopped  at  one.  Seen 
now,  with  the  fury  and  malignancy  of  its  triumph 
painted  upon  it,  the  face  was  one  to  bring  bad 
dreams. 

The  lieutenant,  his  chest  still  laboring  heavily, 
racked  with  the  torture  of  his  torn  shoulder,  looked 
into  that  face  out  of  the  only  calm  eyes  in  the 
group. 

"So  it's  you,  Struve?" 

"Yes,  it's  me — me  and  my  friends." 

"I've  been  looking  for  you  high  and  low." 

"Well,  you've  found  me,"  came  the  immediate 
exultant  answer. 

"I  reckon  I'm  indebted  to  you  for  this."  Fraser 
moved  his  shoulder  slightly. 

"You'll  owe  me  a  heap  more  than  that  before 
the  night's  over." 

"Your  intentions  were  good  then,  I  expert.  Be- 
ing shy  a  trigger  finger  spoils  a  man's  aim." 

"Not  always." 

"Didn't   like  to  risk  another  shot   from  Bald 


292'  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

Knob,  eh  ?  Must  be  some  discouraging  to  hit  only 
once  out  of  three  times  at  three  hundred  yards,  and 
a  scratch  at  that." 

The  convict  swore.  "1*11  not  miss  this  time,  Mr. 
Lieutenant." 

"You'd  better  not,  or  I'll  take  you  back  to  the 
penitentiary  where  I  put  you  before." 

"You'll  never  put  another  man  there,  you  med- 
dling spy,"  Struve  cried  furiously. 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  I  know  what  you've 
got  against  me,  but  I  should  like  to  know  what 
kick  your  friends  have  coming,"  the  ranger  re- 
torted. 

"You  may  have  mine,  right  off  the  reel,  Mr. 
Fraser,  or  whatever  you  call  yourself.  You  came 
into  this  valley  with  a  lie  on  your  lips.  We  played 
you  for  a  friend,  and  you  played  us  for  suckers. 
All  the  time  you  was  in  a  deal  with  the  sheriff  for 
you  know  what.  I  hate  a  spy  like  I  do  a  rattle- 
snake." 

It  was  the  man  Yorky  that  spoke.  Steve's  eyes 
met  his. 

"So  I'm  a  spy,  am  I?" 

"You  know  best." 

"Anyhow,  you're  going  to  shoot  me  first,  and 
find  out  afterward?" 

"Wrong  guess.  We're  going  to  hang  you." 
Struve,  unable  to  keep  back  longer  his  bitter  spleen, 
hissed  this  at  him. 

"Yes,  that's  about  your  size,  Struve.    You  can 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  29$ 

crow  loud  now,  when  the  odds  are  six  to  one,  with 
the  one  unarmed  and  tied  at  that.  But  what  I  want 
to  know  is — are  you  playing  fair  with  your  friends  ? 
Have  you  told  them  that  every  man  in  to-night's 
business  will  hang,  sure  as  fate?  Have  you  told 
them  of  those  cowardly  murders  you  did  in  Arizona 
and  Texas?  Have  you  told  them  that  your  life  is 
forfeit,  anyway?  Do  they  know  you're  trying  to 
drag  them  into  your  troubles?  No?  You  didn't 
tell  them  that.  I'm  surprised  at  you,  Struve." 

"My  name's  Johnson." 

"Not  in  Arizona,  it  isn't.  Wolf  Struve  k  is 
there,  wanted  for  murder  and  other  sundries."  He 
turned  swiftly  from  him  to  his  confederates.  "You 
fools,  you're  putting  your  heads  into  a  noose.  He's 
in  already,  and  wants  you  in,  too.  Test  him. 
Throw  the  end  of  that  rope  over  the  limb,  and  stand 
back,  while  he  pulls  me  up  alone.  He  daren't — not 
for  his  life,  he  daren't.  He  knows  that  whoever 
pulls  on  that  rope  hangs  himself  as  surely  as  he 
hangs  me." 

The  men  looked  at  each  other,  and  at  Struve, 
Were  they  being  led  into  trouble  to  pay  this  man'a 
scores  off  for  him?  Suspicion  stirred  uneasily  ia 
them. 

"That's  right,  too.  Let  Johnson  pull  him  up," 
Slim  Leroy  said  sullenly. 

"Sure.  You've  got  more  at  stake  than  we  have, 
It's  up  to  you,  Johnson,"  Yorky  agreed 

"That's  right,"  a  third  chipped  in. 


294  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

"We'll  all  pull  together,  boys,"  Struve  insinuated 
'"It's  only  a  bluff  of  his.  Don't  let  him  scare  you 
.off." 

"He  ain't  scaring  me  off  any,"  declared  Yorky. 
"He's  a  spy,  and  he's  getting  what  is  coming  to 
•him.  But  you're  a  stranger  too,  Johnson.  I  don't 
trust  you  any — not  any  farther  than  I  can  see  you, 
my  friend.  I'll  stand  for  being  an  aider  and  abet- 
tor, but  I  reckon  if  there's  any  hanging  to  be  done 
you'll  have  to  be  the  sheriff,"  replied  Yorky  stiffly. 

Struve  turned  his  sinister  face  on  one  and  an- 
other of  them.  His  lips  were  drawn  back,  so  that 
the  wolfish  teeth  gleamed  in  the  moonlight.  He 
felt  himself  being  driven  into  a  trap,  from  which 
there  was  no  escape.  He  dared  not  let  Fraser  go 
with  his  life,  for  he  knew  that,  sooner  or  later,  the 
ranger  would  run  him  to  earth,  and  drag  him  back 
to  the  punishment  that  was  awaiting  him  in  the 
South.  Nor  did  he  want  to  shoulder  the  respon- 
sibility of  murdering  this  man  before  five  witnesses. 

Came  the  sound  of  running  footsteps. 

"What's  that?"  asked  Slim  nervously. 

"Where  are  you,  Steve  ?"  called  a  voice. 

"Here,"  the  ranger  shouted  back. 

A  moment  later  Dick  France  burst  into  the  group. 
"What's  doing?"  he  panted. 

The  ranger  laughed  hardily.     "Nothing,  Dick. 

Nothing  at  all.    Some  of  the  boys  had  notions  of  a 

necktie  party,  but  they're  a  little  shy  of  sand.    Have 

you  met  Mr.  Struve,  Dick?     I  know  you're  ac- 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  295 

quainted  with  the  others,  Mr.  Struve  is  from  Yuma. 
An  old  friend  of  mine.  Fact  is,  I  -induced  him  to 
locate  at  Yuma." 

Dick  caught  at  the  rope,  but  Yorky  flung  him 
roughly  back. 

"This  ain't  your  put  in,  France,"  he  said.  "It's 
up  to  Johnson."  And  to  the  latter:  "Get  busy,  if 
you're  going  to." 

"He's  a  spy  on  you-all,  just  the  same  as  he  is  on 
me,"  blurted  the  convict. 

"That's  a  lie,  Struve,"  pronounced  the  lieutenant 
evenly.  "I'm  going  to  take  you  back  with  me,  but 
I've  got  nothing  against  these  men.  I  want  to  an- 
nounce right  now,  no  matter  who  tells  a  different 
story,  that  I  haven't  lost  any  Squaw  Creek  raiders 
and  I'm  not  hunting  any." 

"You  hear?     He  came  into  this  valley  after 


me." 


"Wrong  again,  Struve.  I  didn't  know  you  were 
here.  But  I  know  now,  and  I  serve  notice  that  I'm 
going  to  take  you  back  with  me,  dead  or  alive. 
That's  what  I'm  paid  for,  and  that's  what  I'm 
going  to  do." 

It  was  amazing  to  hear  this  man,  with  a  rope 
round  his  neck,  announce  calmly  what  he  was  going 
to  do  to  the  man  who  had  only  to  pull  that  rope 
to  send  him  into  eternity.  The  very  audacity  of  it 
had  its  effect. 

Slim  spoke  up.  "I  don't  reckon  we  better  go  any 
farther  with  this  thing,  Yorky." 


296  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

"No,  I  don't  reckon  you  had,"  cut  in  Dick 
sharply.  "I'll  not  stand  for  it." 

Again  the  footsteps  of  a  running  man  reached 
them.  It  was  Siegfried.  He  plunged  into  the 
group  like  a  wild  bull,  shook  the  hair  out  of  his 
eyes,  and  planted  himself  beside  Fraser.  With  one 
backward  buffet  of  his  great  arm  he  sent  Johnson 
heels  over  head.  He  caught  Yorky  by  the 
shoulders,  strong  man  though  the  latter  was,  and 
shook  him  till  his  teeth  rattled,  after  which  he  flung 
him  reeling  a  dozen  yards  to  the  ground.  The 
Norwegian  was  reaching  for  Dick  when  Fraser 
stopped  him. 

"That's  enough  of  a  clean-up  right  now,  Sig. 
Dick  butted  in  like  you  to  help  me,"  he  explained. 

"The  durned  coyotes !"  roared  the  big  Norseman 
furiously,  leaping  at  Leroy  and  tossing  him  over 
his  head  as  an  enraged  bull  does.  He  turned  upon 
the  other  three,  shaking  his  tangled  mane,  but  they 
were  already  in  flight. 

"I'll  show  them.  I'll  show  them,"  he  kept  say- 
ing as  he  came  back  to  the  man  he  had  rescued. 

"You've  showed  them  plenty,  Sig.  Cut  out  the 
rough  house  before  you  maim  some  of  these  gents 
who  didn't  invite  you  to  their  party." 

The  ranger  felt  the  earth  sway  beneath  him  as 
he  spoke.  His  wound  had  been  torn  loose  in  the 
fight,  and  was  bleeding.  Limply  he  leaned  against 
the  tree  for  support. 

It  was  at  this  moment  he  caught  sight  of  Arlie 


A   TEXAS  RANGER '   297 

and  Briscoe  as  they  ran  up.  Involuntarily  he 
straightened  almost  jauntily.  The  girl  looked  at 
him  with  that  deep,  eager  look  of  fear  he  had  seen 
before,  and  met  that  unconquerable  smile  of  his. 

The  rope  was  still  round  his  neck  and  the  coat 
was  stripped  from  his  back.  He  was  white  to  the 
lips,  and  she  could  see  he  could  scarce  stand,  even< 
with  the  support  of  the  pine  trunk.  His  face  was 
bruised  and  battered.  His  hat  was  gone;  and  hid- 
den somewhere  in  his  crisp  short  hair  was  a  cut 
from  which  blood  dripped  to  the  forehead.  The 
bound  arm  had  been  torn  from  its  bandages  in  the 
unequal  battle  he  had  fought.  But  for  all  his 
desperate  plight  he  still  carried  the  invincible  look 
that  nothing  less  than  death  can  rob  some  men  of. 

The  fretted  moonlight,  shifting  with  the  gentle 
motion  of  the  foliage  above,  fell  full  upon  him  now 
and  showed  a  wet,  red  stain  against  the  white  shirt. 
Simultaneously  outraged  nature  collapsed,  and  he 
began  to  sink  to  the  ground. 

Arlie  gave  a  little  cry  and  ran  forward.  Before 
he  reached  the  ground  he  had  fainted;  yet  scarcely 
before  she  was  on  he*  knees  beside  him  with  his 
head  in  her  arms. 

"Bring  water,  Dick,  and  tell  Doc  Lee  to  come  at 
once.    He'll  be  in  the  back  room  smoking.    Hurry !"  , 
She  looked  fiercely  round  upon  the  men  assembled. 
"I  think  they  have  killed  him.    Who  did  this?  Was 
it  you,  Yorky?    Was  it  you  that  murdered  him?" 

"I  bane  t'ink  it  take  von  hoondred  of  them  to  do 


298  'A   TEXAS  RANGER        

it,"  saM  Siegfried.  "Dat  fallar,  Johnson,  he  ban* 
at  the  bottom  of  it." 

"Then  why  didn't  you  kill  him?  Aren't  you 
Steve's  friend?  Didn't  he  save  your  life?"  she 
panted,  passion  burning*  in  her  beautiful  eyes. 

Siegfried  nodded.  "I  bane  Steve's  friend,  yah! 
ASK!  Ay  bane  kill  Johnson  eef  Steve  dies." 

Briscoe,  furious  at  this  turn  of  the  tide  which  had 
,r#ept  Arlie's  sympathies  back  to  his  enemy,  fol- 
/owed  Struve  as  he  sneaked  deeper  into  the  shadow 
«f  the  trees.  The  convict  was  nursing  a  sprained 
wrist  when  Jed  reached  him. 

"What  do  you  think  you've  been  trying  to  do. 
you  sap-headed  idiot?"  Jed  demanded.  "Haven't 
you  sense  enough  to  choose  a  better  time  than  one 
when  the  whole  settlement  is  gathered  to  help  him  ? 
And  can't  you  ever  make  a  clean  job  of  it,  you 
chuckle-minded  son  of  a  greaser?" 

Struve  turned,  snarling,  on  him.  "That'll  be 
enough  from  you,  Briscoe.  I've  stood  about  all  I'm 
going  to  stand  just  now." 

"You'll  stand  for  whatever  I  say,"  retorted  Jed. 
"You've  cooked  your  goose  in  this  valley  by  to- 
night's fool  play.  I'm  the  only  man  that  can  pull 
you  through.  Bite  on  that  fact,  Mr.  Struve,  before 
you  unload  your  bile  on  me." 

The  convict's  heart  sank.  He  felt  it  to  be  the 
truth.  The  last  thing  he  had  heatd  was  Siegfried'* 
threat  to  kill  him. 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  299 

Whether  Fraser  lived  or  died  he  was  in  a  precar- 
ious position  and  he  knew  it.  ^ 

"I  know  you're  my  friend,  Jed,"  he  whined.  "I'll 
do  what  you  say.  Stand  by  me  and  I'll  sure  work 
with  you." 

"Then  if  you  take  my  advice  you'll  sneak  down 
to  the  corral,  get  your  horse,  and  light  out  for  the 
run.  Lie  there  till  I  see  you." 

"And  Siegfried?" 

"The  Swede  won't  trouble  you  unless  this  Texan 
dies.  I'll  send  you  word  in  time  if  he  does." 

Later  a  skulking  shadow  sneaked  into  the  corral 
and  out  again.  Once  out  of  hearing,  it  leaped  to 
the  back  of  the  horse  and  galloped  wildly  into  the 
night 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HOWARD  EXPLAINS 

Two  horsemen  rode  into  Millikan's  Draw  and 
drew  up  in  front  of  the  big  ranch  house.  To  the 
girl  who  stepped  to  the  porch  to  meet  them  they 
gave  friendly  greeting.  One  of  them  asked : 

"How're  things  coming,  Arlie?" 

"Better  and  better  every  day,  Dick.  Yesterday 
the  doctor  said  he  was  out  of  danger." 

"It's  been  a  tough  fight  for  Steve,"  the  other 
broke  in.  "Proper  nursing  is  what  pulled  him 
through.  Doc  says  so." 

"Did  he  say  that,  Alec?  I'll  always  think  it  was 
doc.  He  fought  for  that  life  mighty  hard,  boys." 

Alec  Howard  nodded:  "Doc  Lee's  the  stuff. 
Here  he  comes  now,  talking  of  angels." 

Doctor  Lee  dismounted  and  grinned.  "Which 
of  you  lads  is  she  making  love  to  now?" 

Arlie  laughed.  "He  can't  understand  that  I  don't 
make  love  to  anybody  but  him,"  she  explained  to 
the  younger  men. 

"She  never  did  to  me,  doc,"  Dick  said  regret- 
fully. 

"No,  we  were  just  talking  about  you,  doc." 
300 


^ A    TEXAS  RANGER  301 

"Fire  ahead,  young  woman,"  said  the  doctor, 
with  assumed  severity.  "I'm  here  to  defend  my- 
self now." 

"Alec  was  calling-  you  an  angel,  and  I  was 
laughing  at  him,"  said  the  girl  demurely. 

"An  angel — huh!"  he  snorted. 

"I  never  knew  an  angel  that  chewed  tobacco,  or 
one  that  could  swear  the  way  you  do  when  you're 
mad,"  continued  Arlie. 

"I  don't  reckon  your  acquaintance  with  angels 
is  much  greater  than  mine,  Miss  Arlie  Dillon. 
How's  the  patient?" 

"He's  always  wanting  someting  to  eat,  and  he's 
cross  as  a  bear/1 

"Good  for  him!  Give  him  two  weeks  now  and 
he'll  be  ready  to  whip  his  weight  in  wild  cats." 

The  doctor  disappeared  within,  and  presently 
they  could  hear  his  loud,  cheerful  voice  pretending 
to  berate  the  patient. 

Arlie  sat  down  on  the  top  step  of  the  porch. 

"Boys,  I  don't  know  what  I  would  have  done  if 
he  had  died.  It  would  have  been  all  my  fault.  I 
had  no  business  to  tell  him  the  names  of  you  boys 
that  rode  in  the  raid,  and  afterward  to  tell  you  that 
I  told  him,"  she  accused  herself. 

"No,  you  had  no  business  to  tell  him,  though  it 
happens  he's  safe  as  a  bank  vault,"  Howard  com- 
mented. 

"I  don't  know  how  I  came  to  do  it,"  the  girl 
continued.  "Jed  had  made  me  suspicious  of  him. 


302  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

and  then  I  found  out  something  fine  he  had  done 
for  me.  I  wanted  him  to  know  I  trusted  him.  That 
was  the  first  thing  I  thought  of,  and  I  told  it.  He 
tried  to  stop  me,  but  I'm  such  an  impulsive  little 
fool." 

"We  all  make  breaks,  Arlie.  You'll  not  do  it 
again,  anyhow,"  France  comforted. 

Doctor  Lee  presently  came  out  and  pronounced 
that  the  wounded  man  was  doing  well.  "Wants  to 
see  you  boys.  Don't  stay  more  than  half  an  hour. 
If  they  get  in  your  way,  sweep  'em  out,  Arlie." 

The  cowpunchers  entered  the  sick  room  with  the 
subdued,  gingerly  tread  of  professional  undertakers. 

"I  ain't  so  bad  as  that  yet,  boys,"  the  patient 
laughed.  "You're  allowed  to  speak  above  a  whisper, 
Doc  thinks  I'll  last  till  night,  mebbe,  if  I'm  careful." 

They  told  him  all  the  gossip  of  the  range — how 
young  Ford  had  run  off  with  Sallie  Laundon  and 
got  married  to  her  down  at  the  Butte;  how  Sieg- 
fried had  gone  up  and  down  the  valley  swearing 
he  would  clean  out  Jack  Rabbit  Run  if  Steve  died; 
how  Johnson  had  had  another  row  with  Jed  and 
had  chosen  to  take  water  rather  than  draw.  Both 
of  his  visitors,  however,  had  something  on  their 
minds  they  found  some  difficulty  in  expressing. 

Alec  Howard  finally  broached  it. 

"Arlie  told  you  the  names  of  some  of  the  boys 
that  were  in  the  Squaw  Creek  sheep  raid.  She 
made  a  mistake  in  telling  you  anything,  but  we'll 
let  that  go  in  the  discard.  It  ain't  necessary  that 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  303 

you  should  know  the  names  of  the  others,  but  I'm 
going  to  tell  you  one  of  them,  Steve." 

"No,  I  don't  want  to  know." 

"This  is  my  say-so.    His  name  is  Alec  Howard." 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  that,  Alec.  I  don't  know  why 
you  have  told  me." 

"Because  I  want  you  to  know  the  facts  of  that 
raid,  Steve.  No  killing  was  on  the  program.  That 
came  about  in  a  way  none  of  us  could  foresee." 

"This  is  how  it  was,  Steve,"  explained  Dick. 
"Word  came  that  Campeau  was  going  to  move  his 
sheep  into  the  Squaw  Creek  district.  Sheep  never 
had  run  there.  It  was  understood  the  range  there 
was  for  our  cattle.  We  had  set  a  dead  line,  and 
warned  them  not  to  cross  it.  Naturally,  it  made 
us  sore  when  we  heard  about  Campeau. 

"So  some  of  us  gathered  together  hastily  and 
rode  over.  Our  intentions  were  declared.  We 
meant  to  drive  the  sheep  back  and  patrol  the  dead 
line.  It  was  solemnly  agreed  that  there  was  to  be 
no  shooting,  not  even  of  sheep." 

The  story  halted  here  for  a  moment  before 
Howard  took  it  up  again.  "Things  don't  always 
come  out  the  way  you  figure  them.  We  didn't  an- 
ticipate any  trouble.  We  outnumbered  them  two 
to  one.  We  had  the  advantage  of  the  surprise. 
You  couldn't  guess  that  for  anything  but  a  cinch, 
could  you?" 

"And  it  turned  out  different?" 

"One  of  us  stumbled  over  a  rock  as  we  were 


304  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

creeping  forward.  Campeau  heard  us  and  drew. 
The  first  shot  came  from  them.  Now,  I'm  going  to 
tell  you  something  you're  to  keep  under  your  own 
hat.  It  will  surprise  you  a  heap  when  I  tell  you 
that  one  man  on  our  side  did  all  the  damage.  He 
was  at  the  haid  of  the  line,  and  it  happens  he  is  a 
dead  shot.  He  is  liable  to  rages,  when  he  acts  like  a 
crazy  man.  He  got  one  now.  Before  we  could  put 
a  stopper  on  him,  he  had  killed  Campeau  and  Jen- 
nings, and  wounded  the  herders.  The  whole  thing 
was  done  before  you  could  wink  an  eye  six  times. 
For  just  about  that  long  we  stood  there  like  roped 
calves.  Then  we  downed  the  man  in  his  tracks, 
slammed  him  with  the  butt  of  a  revolver." 

Howard  stopped  and  looked  at  the  ranger  before 
he  spoke  again.  His  voice  was  rough  and  hoarse. 

"Steve,  I've  seen  men  killed  before,  but  I  never 
saw  anything  so  awful  as  that.  It  was  just  like 
they  had  been  struck  by  lightning  for  suddenness. 
There  was  that  devil  scattering  death  among  them 
and  the  poor  fellows  crumpling  up  like  rabbits.  I 
tell  you  every  time  I  think  of  it  the  thing  makes  me 
sick." 

The  ranger  nodded.  He  understood.  The  pic- 
ture rose  before  him  of  a  man  in  a  Berserk  rage, 
stark  mad  for  the  moment,  playing  Destiny  on  that 
lonely,  moonlit  hill.  The  face  his  instinct  fitted  to 
the  irresponsible  murderer  was  that  of  Jed  Briscoe. 
Somehow  he  was  sure  of  that,  beyond  the  shadow 
of  a  doubt.  His  imagination  conceived  that  long 


; A    TEXAS  RANGER  305 

ride  back  across  the  hills,  the  deep  agonies  of  sil- 
ence, the  fierce  moments  of  vindictive  accusation. 
No  doubt  for  long  the  tug  of  conscience  was  with 
them  in  all  their  waking  hours,  for  these  men  were 
mostly  simple-minded  cattlemen  caught  in  the  web 
of  evil  chance. 

«  "That's  how  it  was,  Steve.  In  as  long  as  it  takes 
to  empty  a  Winchester,  we  were  every  one  of  us 
guilty  of  a  murder  we'd  each  have  given  a  laig  to 
have  stopped.  We  were  all  in  it,  all  tied  together, 
because  we  had  broke  the  law  to  go  raiding  in  the 
first  place.  Technically,  the  man  that  emptied  that 
rifle  wasn't  any  more  guilty  than  us  poor  wretches 
that  stood  frozen  there  while  he  did  it.  Put  it  that 
we  might  shave  the  gallows,  even  then  the  peniten- 
tiary would  bury  us.  There  was  only  one  thing  to 
do.  We  agreed  to  stand  together,  and  keep  mum." 

"Is  that  why  you're  telling  me,  Alec?"  Eraser 
smiled. 

"We  ain't  telling  you,  not  legally,"  the  cow- 
puncher  answered  coolly.  "If  you  was  ever  to  say 
we  had,  Dick  and  me  would  deny  it.  But  we  ain't 
worrying  any  about  you  telling  it.  You're  a  clam, 
and  we  know  it.  No,  we're  telling  you,  son,  because 
;  we  want  you  to  know  about  how  it  was.  The  boys 
didn't  ride  out  to  do  murder.  They  rode  out  simply 
to  drive  the  sheep  off  their  range." 

The  Texan  nodded.  "That's  about  how  I  figured 
it.  I'm  glad  you  told  me,  boys.  I  reckon  I  don't 
need  to  tell  you  I'm  padlocked  in  regard  to  this." 


3Q6  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

Arlie  came  to  the  door  and  looked  in.  "It's  time 
you  boys  were  going.  Doc  said  a  half  hour." 

"All  right,  Arlie,"  responded  Dick.  "So-long, 
Steve.  Be  good,  you  old  pie  eater." 

After  they  had  gone,  the  Texan  lay  silent  for  a 
long  time.  He  understood  perfectly  their  motive 
in  telling  him  the  story.  They  had  not  com- 
promised themselves  legally,  since  a  denial  would 
have  given  them  two  to  one  in  the  matter  of  wit-" 
nesses.  But  they  wished  him  to  see  that,  morally, 
every  man  but  one  who  rode  on  that  raid  was 
guiltless  of  the  Squaw  Creek  murders. 

Arlie  came  in  presently,  and  sat  down  near  the 
window  with  some  embroidery. 

"Did  the  boys  tire  you?"  she  asked,  noting  his 
unusual  silence. 

"No.  I  was  thinking  about  what  they  told  me. 
They  were  giving  me  the  inside  facts  of  the  Squaw 
Creek  raid." 

She  looked  up  in  surprise.  "They  were?"  A 
little  smile  began  to  dimple  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 
"That's  funny,  because  they  had  just  got  through 
forgiving  me  for  what  I  told  you." 

"What  they  told  me  was  how  the  shooting  oc- 
curred." 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  that.  When  I  told 
you  their  names  I  was  only  telling  what  I  had  heard 
people  whisper.  That's  all  I  knew." 

"You've  been  troubled  because  your  friends  were 


"A   TEXAS  RANGER'          '307 

in  this,  haven't  you  ?  You  hated  to  think  it  of  them, 
didn't  you?"  he  asked. 

"Yes.     It  has  troubled  me  a  lot." 

"Don't  let  it  trouble  you  any  more.  One  man 
was  responsible  for  all  the  bloodshed.  He  went 
mad  and  saw  red  for  half  a  minute.  Before  the 
rest  could  stop  him,  the  slaughter  was  done.  The 
other  boys  aren't  guilty  of  that,  any  more  than  you 
or  I." 

"Oh,  I'm  glad— I'm  glad,"  she  cried  softly. 
Then,  looking  up  quickly  to  him :  "Who  was  the 
man?"  she  asked. 

"I  don't  know.  It  is  better  that  neither  of  us 
should  know  that." 

"I'm  glad  the  boys  told  you.  It  shows  they  trust 
you." 

"They  figure  me  out  a  white  man,"  he  answered 
carelessly. 

"Ah !  That's  where  I  made  my  mistake."  She 
looked  at  him  bravely,  though  the  color  began  to 
beat  into  her  cheeks  beneath  the  dusky  tan.  "Yet  I 
knew  it  all  the  time — in  my  heart.  At  least,  after 
I  had  given  myself  time  to  think  it  over.  I  knew 
you  couldn't  be  that.  If  I  had  given  you  time  to 
explain — but  I  always  think  too  late." 

His  eyes,  usually  so  clear  and  steely,  softened  at 
her  words.  "I'm  satisfied  if  you  knew — in  your 
heart" 

"I  meant "  she  began,  with  a  flush. 


3o8  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

"Now,  don't  spoil  it,  please,"  he  begged. 

Under  his  steady,  half-smiling  gaze,  her  eyes  fell. 
Two  weeks  ago  she  had  been  a  splendid  young 
creature,  as  untaught  of  life  as  one  of  the  wild 
forest  animals  and  as  unconsciously  eager  for  it. 
But  there  had  come  a  change  over  her,  a  birth  of 
womanhood  from  that  night  when  she  had  stood 
between  Stephen  Fraser  and  death.  No  doubt  she 
would  often  regret  it,  but  she  had  begun  to  live 
more  deeply.  She  could  never  go  back  to  the  care- 
free days  when  she  could  look  all  men  in  the  face 
with  candid,  girlish  eyes.  The  time  had  come  to 
her,  as  it  must  to  all  sensitive  of  life,  when  she  must 
drink  of  it,  whether  she  would  or  no. 

"Because  I'd  rather  you  would  know  it  in  your 
heart  than  in  your  mind,"  he  said. 

Something  sweet  and  terrifying,  with  the  tingle 
and  warmth  of  rare  wine  in  it,  began  to  glow  in  her 
veins.  Eyes  shy,  eager,  frightened,  met  his  for  an 
instant.  Then  she  remembered  the  other  gir!. 
Something  hard  as  steel  ran  through  her.  She 
turned  on  her  heel  and  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  TEXAN  PAYS  A   VISIT 

From  that  day  Fraser  had  a  new  nurse.  Arlie 
disappeared,  and  her  aunt  replaced  her  a  few  hours 
later  and  took  charge  of  the  patient.  Steve  took  her 
desertion  as  an  irritable  convalescent  does,  but  he 
did  not  let  his  disappointment  make  him  unpleasant 
to  Miss  Ruth  Dillon. 

"I'm  a  chump/'  he  told  himself,  with  deep  dis- 
gust. "Hadn't  any  more  sense  than  to  go  scaring 
off  the  little  girl  by  handing  out  a  line  of  talk  she 
ain't  used  to.  I  reckon  now  she's  done  with  me 
proper." 

He  continued  to  improve  so  rapidly  that  within 
the  prescribed  two  weeks  he  was  on  horseback  again, 
though  still  a  little  weak  and  washed  out.  His  first 
ride  of  any  length  was  to  the  Dillon  ranch.  Sieg- 
fried accompanied  him,  and  across  the  Norwegian's 
saddle  lay  a  very  business-like  rifle. 

As  they  were  passing  the  mouth  of  a  canon,  the 
ranger  put  a  casual  question:  "This  Jack  Rabbit 
Run,  Sig?" 

"Yah.  More  men  wanted  bane  lost  in  that  gulch 
than  any  place  Ay  knows  of." 

309 


3io  'A   TEXAS  RANGER 

"That  so  ?    I'm  going  in  there  to-morrow  to 
that   man    Struve,"    his    friend   announced   care- 
lessly. 

The  big  blonde  giant  looked  at  him.  "Yuh  bain't, 
Steve  ?  Why,  yuh  bain't  fit  to  tackle  a  den  uh  wild 
cats."  An  admiring  grin  lit  the  Norwegian's  face. 
"Burn  my  hide,  yuh've  got  'em  all  skinned  for  grit, 
Steve.  Uh  course,  Ay  bane  goin'  with  yuh." 

"If  it  won't  get  you  in  bad  with  your  friends  I'll 
be  glad  to  have  you,  Sig." 

"They  bain't  my  friends.  Ay  bane  shook  them, 
an'  served  notice  to  that  effect." 

"Glad  of  it." 

"Yuh  bane  goin'  in  after  Struve  only?" 

"Yes.    He's  the  only  man  I  want." 

"Then  Ay  bane  go  in,  and  bring  heem  out  to 
yuh." 

Fraser  shook  his  head.  "No,  old  man,  I've  got 
to  play  my  own  hand." 

"Ay  t'ink  it  be  a  lot  safer  f'r  me  to  happen  in  an* 
get  heem,"  remonstrated  Siegfried. 

"Safer  for  me,"  corrected  the  lieutenant,  smil- 
ing. "No,  I  can't  work  that  way.  I've  got  to  take 
my  own  chances.  You  can  go  along,  though,  on  one 
i  condition.  You're  not  to  interfere  between  me  and 
Struve.  If  some  one  else  butts  in,  you  may  ask  him 
why,  if  you  like. 

"Ay  bane  t'ink  yuh  von  fool,  Steve.  But  Ay  bane 
no  boss.  Vat  yuh  says  goes." 

They  found  Arlie  watering  geraniums  in  front  of 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  311 

the  house.  Siegfried  merely  nodded  to  her  and 
passed  on  to  the  stables  with  the  horses.  Fraser 
dismounted,  offering  her  his  hand  and  his  warm 
smile. 

He  had  caught  her  without  warning,  and  she  was 
a  little  shy  of  him.  Not  only  was  she  embarrassed, 
but  she  saw  that  he  knew  it.  He  sat  down  on  the 
step,  while  she  continued  to  water  her  flowers. 

"You  see  your  bad  penny  turned  up  again,  Miss 
Arlie,"  he  said. 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  able  to  ride  yet,  Lieuten- 
ant Fraser." 

"This  is  my  first  try  at  it.  Thought  I'd  run  over 
and  say  'Thank  you*  to  my  nurse." 

"I'll  call  auntie,"  she  said  quickly. 

He  shook  his  head.  "Not  necessary,  Miss  Arlie. 
I  settled  up  with  her.  I  was  thinking  of  the  nurse 
that  ran  off  and  left  me." 

She  was  beginning  to  recover  herself.  "You 
want  to  thank  her  for  leaving  while  there  was  still 
hope,"  she  said,  with  a  quick  little  smile. 

"Why  did  you  do  it  ?  I've  been  mighty  lonesome 
the  past  two  weeks,"  he  said  quietly. 

"You  would  be,  of  course.  You  are  used  to  an 
active  outdoor  life,  and  I  suppose  the  boys  couldn't 
get  round  to  see  you  very  often." 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  the  boys,"  he  meditated 
aloud. 

Arlie  blushed;  and  to  hide  her  embarrassment 
she  called  to  Jimmie,  who  was  passing :  "Bring  up 


3i2  A    TEXAS  RANGER . 

Lieutenant  Eraser's  Teddy.  I  want  him  to  see  how 
well  we're  caring  for  his  horse." 

As  a  diversion,  Teddy  served  very  well.  Horse 
and  owner  were  both  mightily  pleased  to  see  each 
other.  While  the  animal  rubbed  its  nose  against  his 
coat,  the  ranger  teased  and  petted  it. 

"Hello,  you  old  Teddy  hawss.  How  air  things 
a-ce/min',  parduer?"  he  drawled,  with  a  reversion 
to  his  Texas  speech.  "Plumb  tickled  to  death  to 
meet  up  with  yore  old  master,  ain't  you?  How 
come  it  you  ain't  fallen  in  love  with  this  young  lady 
and  forgot  Steve?" 

"He  thinks  a  lot  of  me,  too,"  Arlie  claimed 
promptly. 

"Don't  blame  you  a  bit,  Teddy.  I'll  ce'tainly 
shake  hands  with  you  on  that.  But  life's  jest 
meetin'  and  partin',  old  hawss.  I  got  to  take  you 
away  for  good,  day  after  to-morrow." 

"Where  are  you  going?"  the  girl  asked  quickly. 
Then,  to  cover  the  swift  interest  of  her  question: 
"But,  of  course,  it  is  time  you  were  going  back 
to  your  business." 

"No,  ma'am,  that  is  just  it.  Seems  to  me  either 
too  soon  or  too  late  to  be  going." 

She  had  her  face  turned  from  him,  and  was 
busy  over  her  plants,  to  hide  the  tremulous  dismay 
that  had  shaken  her  at  his  news. 

She  did  not  ask  him  what  he  meant,  nor  did  she 
ask  again  where  he  was  going.  For  the  moment, 
she  could  not  trust  her  voice  to  say  more. 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  313 

"Too  late,  because  I've  seen  in  this  valley  some 
one  I'll  never  forget,  and  too  soon  because  that 
some  one  will  forget  me,  sure  as  a  gun,"  he  told 
her. 

"Not  if  you  write  to  him." 

"It  isn't  a  him.    It's  my  little  nurse." 

"I'll  tell  auntie  how  you  feel  about  it,  and  I'm 
sure  she  won't  forget  you." 

"You  know  mighty  well  I  ain't  talking  about 
auntie." 

"Then  I  suppose  you  must  mean  me." 

"That's  who  I'm  meaning." 

"I  think  I'll  be  able  to  remember  you  if  I  try — 
by  Teddy,"  she  answered,  without  looking  at  him, 
qnd  devoted  herself  to  petting  the  horse. 

"Is  it — would  it  be  any  use  to  say  any  more, 
Arlie?"  he  asked,  in  a  low  voice,  as  he  stood  be- 
side her,  with  Teddy's  nose  in  his  hands. 

"I — I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  sir.  Please 
don't  say  anything  more  about  it."  Then  again 
memory  of  the  other  girl  flamed  through  her.  "No, 
it  wouldn't — not  a  bit  of  use,  not  a  bit,"  she  broke 
out  fiercely. 

''You  mean  you  couldn't " 

The  flame  in  her  face,  the  eyes  that  met  his,  as 
if  drawn  by  a  magnet,  still  held  their  anger,  but 
mingled  with  it  was  a  piteous  plea  for  mercy.  "I—- 
I'm only  a  girl.  Why  don't  you  let  me  alone  ?w 
she  cried  bitterly,  and  hard  upon  her  own  words 
turned  and  ran  from  the  room. 


3H  'A    TEXAS  RANGER 

Steve  looked  after  her  in  amazed  surprise.  "Now 
don't  it  beat  the  band  the  way  a  woman  takes  a 
thing." 

Dubiously  he  took  himself  to  the  stable  and  said 
good-by  to  Dillon. 

An  hour  later  she  went  down  to  dinner  still 
flushed  and  excited.  Before  she  had  been  in  the 
room  two  minutes  her  father  gave  her  a  piece  of 
startling  news. 

"I  been  talking  to  Steve.  Gracious,  gyurl,  what 
do  you  reckon  that  boy's  a-goin'  to  do?" 

Arlie  fdt  the  color  leap  into  her  cheeks. 

"What,  dad?" 

"He's  a'goin'  back  to  Gimlet  Butte,  to  give  him- 
self up  to  Brandt,  day  after  to-morrow." 

"But— what  for?"  she  gasped. 

"Durned  if  I  know!  He's  got  some  fool  notion 
about  playin'  fair.  Seems  he  came  into  the  Cedar 
Mountain  country  to  catch  the  Squaw  Creek  raid- 
ers. Brandt  let  him  escape  on  that  pledge.  Well, 
he's  give  up  that  notion,  and  now  he  thinks,  dad 
gum  it,  that  it's  up  to  him  to  surrender  to  Brandt 
again." 

The  girl's  eyes  were  like  stars.  "And  he's  going 
to  go  back  there  and  give  himself  up,  to  be  tried  for 
killing  Faulkner." 

Dillon  scratched  his  head.  "By  gum,  gyurl,  I 
didn't  think  of  that.  We  cayn't  let  him  go." 

"Yes,  we  can." 

"Why,  honey,  he  didn't  kill  Faulkner,  looks  like. 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  315 

We  cayn't  let  him  go  back  there  and  take  our  medi- 
cine for  us.  Mebbe  he  would  be  lynched.  It's  a 
sure  thing  he'd  be  cdnvicted." 

"Never  mind.  Let  him  go.  I've  got  a  plan, 
dad."  Her  vivid  face  was  alive  with  the  emotion 
which  spoke  in  it.  "When  did  he  say  he  was 
going?"  she  asked  buoyantly. 

"Day  after  to-morow.  Seems  he's  got  business 
that  keeps  him  hyer  to-morrow.  What's  yore  idee, 
honey?" 

She  got  up,  and  whispered  it  in  his  ear.  His  jaw 
dropped,  and  he  stared  at  her  in  amazement 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    WOLF    BITES 

Steve  came  drowsily  to  consciousness  from  con* 
fused  dreams  of  a  cattle  stampede  and  the  click  of 
rifles  in  the  hands  of  enemies  who  had  the  drop  on 
him.  The  rare,  untempered  sunshine  of  the  Rockies 
poured  into  his  wiridow  from  a  world  outside,  won- 
derful as  the  early  morning  of  creation.  The  hill- 
side opposite  was  bathed  miraculously  in  a  flood  of 
light,  in  which  grasshoppers  fiddled  triumphantly 
their  joy  in  life.  The  sources  of  his  dreams  dis- 
covered themselves  in  the  bawl  of  thirsty  cattle  and 
the  regular  clicking  of  a  windmill. 

A  glance  at  his  watch  told  him  that  it  was  six 
o'clock. 

"Time  to  get  up,  Steve/'  he  told  himself,  and 
forthwith  did. 

He  chose  a  rough  crash  towel,  slipped  on  a  pair 
of  Howard's  moccasins,  and  went  down  to  the  river 
through  an  ambient  that  had  the  sparkle  and  ex- 
hilaration of  champagne.  The  mountain  air  was  still 
finely  crisp  with  the  frost,  in  spite  of  the  sun 
warmth  that  was  beginning  to  mellow  it.  Flinging 
aside  the  Indian  blanket  he  had  caught  up  before 

316 


A   TEXAS  RANGER 


leaving  the  cabin,  he  stood  for  an  instant  on  the 
bank,  a  human  being  with  the  physical  poise,  com-'* 
pactness,  and  lithe-muscled  smoothness  of  a  tiger. 

Even  as  he  plunged  a  rifle  cracked.  While  he' 
dived  through  the  air,  before  the  shock  of  the  icy 
water  tingled  through  him,  he  was  planning  his  es- 
cape. The  opposite  bank  rose  ten  feet  above  the 
stream.  He  kept  under  the  water  until  he  came 
close  to  this,  then  swam  swiftly  along  it  with  only 
his  head  showing,  so  as  to  keep  him  out  of  sight 
as  much  as  possible. 

Half  a  stone's  throw  farther  the  bank  fell  again 
to  the  water's  edge,  the  river  having  broadened  and 
grown  shallow,  as  mountain  creeks  do.  The  ranger 
ran,  stooping,  along  the  bank,  till  it  afforded  him 
no  more  protection,  then  dashed  across  the  stony- 
bottomed  stream  to  the  shelter  of  the  thick  aspens 
beyond. 

Just  as  he  expected,  a  shot  rang  from  far  up  the 
mountainside.  In  another  instant  he  was  safe  in 
the  foliage  of  the  young  aspens. 

In  the  sheer  exhilaration  of  his  escape  he  laughed 
aloud. 

"Last  show  to  score  gone,  Mr.  Struve.     I  fig- 

•  ured  it  just  right.    He  waited  too  long  for  his  first 

shot.    Then  the  bank  hid  me.    He  wasn't  expecting1 

to  see  me  away  down  the  stream,  so  he  hadn't  time 

to  sight  his  second  one." 

Steve  wound  his  way  in  and  out  among  the 
aspens,  working  toward  the  tail  of  them,  which  ran 


3i8  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

up  the  hill  a  little  way  and  dropped  down  almost  to 
the  back  door  of  the  cabin.  Upon  this  he  was' 
presently  pounding. 

Howard  let  him  in.  He  had  a  revolver  in  his 
hand,  the  first  weapon  he  could  snatch  up. 

"You  durned  old  idiot!  It's  a  wonder  you  ain't 
dead  three  ways  for  Sunday,"  he  shouted  joyfully 
at  sight  of  him.  "Ain't  I  told  you  'steen  times  to 
do  what  bathin'  you  got  to  do,  right  here  in  the 
shack?" 

The  Texan  laughed  again.  Naked  as  that  of 
Father  Adam,  his  splendid  body  was  glowing  with 
the  bath  and  the  exercise. 

"He's  ce'tainly  the  worst  chump  ever,  Alec.  Had 
me  in  sight  all  the  way  down  to  the  creek,  but 
waited  till  I  wasn't  moving.  Reckon  he  was  nerv- 
ous. Anyhow,  he  waited  just  one-tenth  of  a  second 
too  late.  Shot  just  as  I  leaned  forward  for  my 
dive.  He  gave  me  a  free  hair-cut  though." 

A  swath  showed  where  the  bullet  had  mowed  a 
furrow  of  hair  so  close  that  in  one  place  it  had 
slightly  torn  the  scalp. 

"He  shot  again,  didn't  he?" 

"Yep.  I  swam  along  the  far  bank,  so  that  he 
couldn't  get  at  me,  and  crossed  into  the  aspens.  He 
got  another  chance  as  I  was  crossing,  but  he  had  to 
take  it  on  the  fly,  and  missed." 

The  cattleman  surveyed  the  hillside  cautiously 
through  the  front  window.  "I  reckon  he's  pulled 
liis  freight,  most  likely.  But  we'll  stay  cooped  fof 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  319 

a  while,  on  the  chance.  You're  the  luckiest  cuss  I 
ever  did  see.  More  Jives  than  a  cat." 

Howard  laid  his  revolver  down  within  reach, 
and  proceeded  to  light  a  fire  in  the  stove,  from 
which  rose  presently  the  pleasant  odors  of  aromatic 
coffee  and  fried  ham  and  eggs. 

"Come  and  get  it,  Steve,"  said  Howard,  by  way 
of  announcing  breakfast.  "No,  you  don't.  I'll 
take  the  window  seat,  and  at  that  we'll  have  the 
curtain  drawn." 

They  were  just  finishing  breakfast  when  Sieg- 
fried cantered  up. 

"You  bane  ready,  Steve?"  he  called  in. 

Howard  appeared  in  the  doorway.  "Say,  Sig, 
go  down  to  the  corral  and  saddle  up  Teddy  for 
Steve,  will  you?  Some  of  his  friends  have  been 
potshotting  at  him  again.  No  damage  done,  except 
to  my  feelings,  but  there's  nothing  like  being 
careful." 

Siegfried's  face  darkened.  "Ay  bane  like  for 
know  who  it  vas?" 

Howard  laughed.  "Now,  if  you'll  tell  Steve  that 
he'll  give  you  as  much  as  six  bits,  Sig.  He's  got 
notions,  but  they  ain't  worth  any  more  than  yours 
or  mine.  Say,  where  you  boys  going  to-day?  I've 
a  notion  to  go  along." 

"Oh,  just  out  for  a  little  pasear"  Steve  answered 
casually.  "Thought  you  were  going  to  work  on 
your  south  fence  to-day." 

"Well,  I  reckon  I  better.     It  sure  needs  fixing. 


320  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

You  lads  take  good  care  of  yourselves.  I  don't 
need  to  tell  you  not  to  pass  anywhere  near  the  run  , 
Sig,"  he  grinned,  with  the  manner  of  one  giving 
a  superfluous  warning. 

Fraser  looked  at  Siegfried,  with  a  smile  in  his 
eyes.  "No,  we'll  not  pass  the  run  to-day,  Alec." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  they  were  in  the  saddle 
and  away.  Siegfried  did  not  lead  his  friend  di- 
rectly up  the  canon  that  opened  into  Jack  Rabbit 
Run,  but  across  the  hills  to  a  pass,  which  had  to  be 
taken  on  foot.  They  left  the  horses  picketed  on  a 
grassy  slope,  and  climbed  the  faint  trail  that  went 
steeply  up  the  bowlder-strewn  mountain. 

The  ascent  was  so  steep  that  the  last  bit  had 
to  be  done  on  all  fours.  It  was  a  rock  face,  though 
by  no  means  an  impossible  one,  since  projecting 
ledges  and  knobs  offered  a  foothold  all  the  way. 
From  the  summit,  the  trail  edged  its  way  down 
so  precipitously  that  twice  fallen  pines  had  to  be 
used  as  ladders  for  the  descent. 

As  soon  as  they  were  off  the  rocks,  the  big  blonde 
gave  the  signal  for  silence.  "Ay  bane  fink  we 
might  meet  up  weeth  some  one,"  he  whispered,  and 
urged  Steve  to  follow  him  as  closely  as  possible. 

It  was  half  an  hour  later  that  Sig  pointed  out  a 
small  clearing  ahead  of  them.  "Cabin's  right  oop 
w\  the  edge  of  the  aspens.  See  it?" 

The  ranger  nodded  assent. 

"Ay  bane  go  down  first  an*  see  how  t'ings  look." 

When  the  Norwegian  entered  the  cabin,  he  saw 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  321 

two  men  seated  at  a  table,  playing  seven  up.  The 
one  facing  him  was  Tommie,  the  cook;  the  other 
was  an  awkward  heavy-set  fellow,  whom  he  knew 
for  the  man  he  wanted,  even  before  the  scarred,  vil- 
lainous face  was  twisted  toward  him. 

Struve  leaped  instantly  to  his  feet,  overturning 
his  chair  in  his  haste.  He  had  not  met  the  big 
Norseman  since  the  night  he  had  attempted  to  hang 
Fraser. 

"Ay  bane  not  shoot  yuh  now,"  Siegfried  told 
him. 

"Right  sure  of  that,  are  you?"  the  convict 
snarled,,  his  hand  on  his  weapon.  "If  you've  got 
any  doubts,  now's  the  time  to  air  them,  and  we'll 
settle  this  thing  right  now." 

"Ay  bane  not  shoot,  Ay  tell  you." 

Tommie,  who  had  ducked  beneath  the  table  at 
the  prospect  of  trouble,  now  cautiously  emerged. 

"I  ain't  lost  any  pills  from  either  of  your  guns, 
gents,"  he  explained,  with  a  face  so  laughably  and 
frankly  frightened  that  both  of  the  others  smiled. 

"Have  a  drink,  Siegfried,"  suggested  Struve,  by 
way  of  sealing  the  treaty.  "Tommie,  get  out  that 
bottle." 

"Ay  bane  t'ink  Ay  look  tc  my  horse  first,"  the 
Norwegian  answered,  and  immediately  left  by  way 
of  the  back  door  not  three  minutes  before  Jed  Bris- 
coe  entered  by  the  front  one. 

Jed  shut  the  door  behind  him  and  looked  at  th« 
convict. 


322  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

"Well?"  he  demanded. 

Struve  faced  him  sullenly,  without  answering. 

"Tommie,  vamos/:  hinted  Briscoe  gently,  and  as 
soon  as  the  cook  had  disappeared,  he  repeated  his 
monosyllable:  "Well?" 

"It  didn't  come  off,"  muttered  the  other  sulkily. 

"Just  what  I  expected.    Why  not?" 

Struve  broke  into  a  string  of  furious  oaths.  "Be- 
cause I  missed  him — missed  him  twice,  when  he 
was  standing  there  naked  before  me.  He  was  com- 
ing down  to  the  creek  to  take  a  bath,  and  I  waited 
till  he  was  close.  I  had  a  sure  bead  on  him,  and 
he  dived  just  as  I  fired.  I  got  another  chance, 
when  he  was  running  across,  farther  down,  and,  by 
thunder,  I  missed  again." 

Jed  laughed,  and  the  sound  of  it  was  sinister. 

"Couldn't  hit  the  side  of  a  house,  could  you? 
You're  nothing  but  a  cheap  skate,  a  tin-horn  gam- 
bler, run  down  at  the  heels.  All  right.  I'm 
through  with  you.  Lieutenant  Fraser,  from  Texas, 
can  come  along  and  collect  whenever  he  likes.  I'll 
not  protect  a  false  alarm  like  you  any  longer." 

Struve  looked  at  him,  as  a  cornered  wolf  might 
have  done.  "What  will  you  do?" 

"I'll  give  you  up  to  him.  I'll  tell  him  to  come 
in  and  get  you.  I'll  show  him  the  way  in,  you 
white-livered  cur!"  bullied  the  cattleman,  giving 
way  to  one  of  his  rages. 

"You'd  better  not,"  snarled  the  convict.  "Not 
if  you  want  to  live." 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  323 

As  they  stood  facing  each  other  in  a  panting  fury 
the  door  opened,  to  let  in  Siegfried  and  the  ranger 

Jed's  rage  against  Struve  died  on  the  spot.  He 
saw  his  enemy,  the  ranger,  before  him,  and  leaped 
to  the  conclusion  that  he  had  come  to  this  hidden 
retreat  to  run  him  down  for  the  Squaw  Creek  mur- 
ders. Instantly,  his  hand  swept  to  the  hilt  of  his 
revolver. 

That  motion  sealed  his  doom.  For  Struve  knew 
that  Siegfried  had  brought  the  ranger  to  capture 
him,  and  suspected  in  the  same  flash  that  Briscoe 
was  in  on  the  betrayal.  Had  not  the  man  as  good 
as  told  him  so,  not  thirty  seconds  before  ?  He  sup- 
posed that  Jed  was  drawing  to  kill  or  cover  him, 
and,  like  a  flash  of  lightning,  unscabbarded  and 
fired. 

"You  infernal  Judas,  I'll  get  you  anyhow,"  he 
cried. 

Jed  dropped  his  weapon,  and  reeled  back  against 
the  wall,  where  he  hung  for  a  moment,  while  the 
convict  pumped  a  second  and  a  third  bullet  into  his 
body.  Briscoe  was  dead  before  Fraser  could  leap 
forward  and  throw  his  arms  round  the  man  who 
had  killed  him. 

Between  them,  they  flung  Struve  to  the  ground, 
and  disarmed  him.  The  convict's  head  had  struck 
as  he  went  down,  and  it  was  not  for  some  little 
time  that  he  recovered  fully  from  his  daze.  When 
te  did  his  hands  were  tied  behind  him. 

"I  didn't  go  for  to  kill  him,"  he  whimpered,  now 


324  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

thoroughly  frightened  at  what  he  had  done.  "You 
both  saw  it,  gentlemen.  You  did,  lieutenant.  So 
did  you,  Sig.  It  was  self-defense.  He  drew  on 
me.  I  didn't  go  to  do  it." 

Fraser  was  examining  the  dead  man's  wounds. 
He  looked  up,  and  said  to  his  friend :  "Nothing  to 
do  for  him,  Sig.  He's  gone." 

"I  tell  you,  I  didn't  mean  to  do  it,"  pleaded 
Struve.  "Why,  lieutenant,  that  man  has  been  try- 
ing to  get  me  to  ambush  you  for  weeks.  I'll  swear 
it."  The  convict  was  in  a  panic  of  terror,  ready  to 
curry  favor  with  the  man  whom  he  held  his  dead- 
liest «nemy.  "Yes,  lieutenant,  ever  since  you  came 
here.  He's  been  egging  me  on  to  kill  you." 

"And  you  tried  it  three  times?" 

"No,  sir."  He  pointed  vindictively  at  the  dead 
man,  lying  face  up  on  the  floor.  "It  was  him  that 
ambushed  you  this  morning.  I  hadn't  a  thing  to 
do  with  it." 

"Don't  lie,  you  coward." 

They  carried  the  body  to  the  next  room  and  put 
it  on  a  bed.  Tommie  was  dispatched  on  a  fast 
horse  for  help. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  he  brought  back  with  him 
Doctor  Lee,  and  half  an  hour  after  sunset  Yorky 
and  Slim  galloped  up.  They  were  for  settling  the 
matter  out  of  hand  by  stringing  the  convict  Struve 
up  to  the  nearest  pine,  but  they  found  the  ranger  so 
very  much  on  the  spot  that  they  reconsidered. 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  325 

"He's  my  prisoner,  gentlemen.  I  came  in  here 
and  took  him — that  is/  with  the  help  of  my  friend 
Siegfried.  I  reckon  if  you  mill  it  over  a  spell,  you'll 
find  you  don't  want  him  half  as  bad  as  we  do,"  he 
said  mildly. 

"What's  the  matter  with  all  of  us  going  in  on 
this  thing,  lieutenant?"  proposed  Yorky. 
|  "I  never  did  see  such  a  fellow  for  necktie  parties 
as  you  are,  Yorky.  Not  three  weeks  ago,  you  was 
invitin'  me  to  be  chief  mourner  at  one  of  your  little 
affairs,  and  your  friend  Johnson  was  to  be  master 
of  ceremonies.  Now  you've  got  the  parts  reversed. 
No,  I  reckon  we'll  have  to  disappoint  you  this  trip." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  him?"  asked 
[Yorky,  with  plain  dissatisfaction. 
t     "I'm  going  to  take  him  down  to  Gimlet  Butte. 
[Arizona  and  Wyoming  and  Texas  will  have  to 
scrap  it  out  for  him  there." 

[  "When  you  get  him  there,"  Yorky  said  sig- 
nificantly. 

;  "Yes,  when  I  get  him  there,"  answered  the  Texan 
blandly,  carefully  oblivious  of  the  other's  impli- 
cation^ 

The  moon  was  beginning  to  show  itself  over  a 
hill  before  the  Texan  and  Siegfried  took  the  road 
with  their  captive.  Fraser  had  carelessly  let  drop 
a  remark  to  the  effect  that  they  would  spend  the 
night  at  the  Dillon  ranch. 

His  watch  showed  eleven  o'clock  before  they 


326  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

reached  the  ranch,  but  he  pushed  on  without  turn- 
ing in  and  did  not  stop  until  they  came  to  the  How- 
ard place. 

They  roused  Alec  from  sleep,  and  he  cooked 
them  a  post-midnight  supper,  after  which  he  sad- 
dled his  cow  pony,  buckled  on  his  belt,  and  took 
down  his  old  rifle  from  the  rack. 

"I'll  jog  along  with  you  lads  and  see  the  fun/' 
he  said. 

Their  prisoner  had  not  eaten.  The  best  he  could 
do  was  to  gulp  down  some  coffee,  for  he  was  in  a 
nervous  chill  of  apprehension.  Every  gust  of  wind 
seemed  to  carry  to  him  the  patter  of  pursuit.  The 
hooting  of  an  owl  sent  a  tremor  through  him. 

"Don't  you  reckon  we  had  better  hurry?"  he  had 
asked  with  dry  lips  more  than  once,  while  the  others 
were  eating. 

He  asked  it  again  as  they  were  setting  off. 

Howard  looked  him  over  with  rising  disgust, 
without  answering.  Presently,  he  remarked,  apro- 
pos of  nothing:  "Are  all  your  Texas  wolves  co- 
yotes, Steve?" 

He  would  have  liked  to  know  at  least  that  it  was 
a  man  whose  life  he  was  protecting,  even  though 
the  fellow  was  also  a  villain.  But  this  crumb  of 
satisfaction  was  denied  him. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

ON  THE  ROAD  TO  GIMLET  BUTTE 

"We'll  go  out  by  the  river  way,"  said  Howard 
tentatively.  "Eh,  what  think,  Sig?  It's  longer,  but 
iYorky  will  be  expecting  us  to  take  the  short  cut 
over  the  pass/' 

The  Norwegian  agreed.  "It  bane  von  chance, 
anyhow." 

By  unfrequented  trails  they  traversed  the  valley 
till  they  reached  the  canon  down  which  poured 
Squaw  Creek  on  its  way  to  the  outside  world.  A! 
road  ran  alongside  this  for  a  mile  or  two,  but  dis- 
appeared into  the  stream  when  the  gulch  narrowed. 
The  first  faint  streaks  of  gray  dawn  were  lightening 
the  sky  enough  for  Fraser  to  see  this.  He  was 
riding  in  advance,  and  commented  upon  it  to  Sieg- 
fried, who  rode  with  him. 

The  Norwegian  laughed.  "Ay  bane  t'ink  we  do 
some  wadin'." 

They  swung  off  to  the  right,  and  a  little  later 
splashed  through  the  water  for  a  few  minutes  and 
came  out  into  a  spreading  valley  beyond  the  sheer 
walls  of  the  retreat  they  had  left.  Taking  the  road 

327, 


328  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

again,  they  traveled  faster  than  they  had  been  able 
to  do  before. 

"Who  left  the  valley  yesterday  for  Gimlet  Butte, 
Sig?"  Howard  asked,  after  it  was  light  enough  to 
see.  "I  notice  tracks  of  two  horses." 

"Ay  bane  vondering.  Ay  t'ink  mebbe  West 
over " 

"I  reckon  not.  This  ain't  the  track  of  his  big 
bay.  Must  'a'  been  yesterday,  too,  because  it  rained 
the  night  before." 

For  some  hours  they  could  see  occasionally  the 
tracks  of  the  two  horses,  but  eventually  lost  them 
where  two  trails  forked. 

"Taking  the  Sweetwater  cutoff  to  the  Butte,  I 
reckon,"  Howard  surmised. 

They  traveled  all  day,  except  for  a  stop  about  ten 
o'clock  for  breakfast,  and  another  late  in  the  after- 
noon, to  rest  the  horses.  At  night,  they  put  up  at 
a  ranch  house,  and  were  in  the  saddle  again  early 
in  the  morning.  Before  noon,  they  struck  a  tele- 
phone line,  and  Fraser  called  up  Brandt  at  a  ranch. 

"Hello!  This  Sheriff  Brandt?  Lieutenant 
Fraser,  of  the  Texas  Rangers,  is  talking.  I'm  on 
my  way  to  town  with  a  prisoner.  We're  at  Christy's, 
now.  There  will,  perhaps,  be  an  attempt  to  take 
him  from  us.  I'll  explain  the  circumstances  later. 

.  .  .  Yes.  .  .  .  Yes.  .  .  .  We  can  hold 
him,  I  think,  but  there  may  be  trouble.  .  .  . 
Yes,  that's  it.  We  have  no  legal  right  to  detain 
him,  I  suppose.  .  .  .  That'sjwhat  I.  was  going 


A    TEXAS  RANGER  329 

to  suggest.  Better  send  about  four  men  to  meet  us. 
We'll  come  in  on  the  Blasted  Pitie  road.  .  .  . 
About  nine  to-night,  I  should  think." 

As  they  rode  easily  along  the  dusty  road,  the 
Texan  explained  his  plan  to  his  friends. 

"We  don't  want  any  trouble  with  Yorky's  crowd. 
We  ain't  any  of  us  deputies,  and  my  commission 
doesn't  run  in  Wyoming,  of  course.  My  notion  is 
to  lie  low  in  the  hills  two  or  three  hours  this  after- 
noon, and  give  Brandt  a  chance  to  send  his  men 
out  to  meet  us.  The  responsibility  will  be  on  them, 
and  we  can  be  sworn  in  as  deputies,  too." 

They  rested  in  a  grassy  draw,  about  fifteen  miles 
from  town,  and  took  the  trail  again  shortly  after 
dark.  It  was  an  hour  later  that  Fraser,  who  had 
an  extraordinary  quick  ear,  heard  the  sound  of  men 
riding  toward  them.  He  drew  his  party  quickly 
into  the  shadows  of  the  hills,  a  little  distance  from 
the  road. 

They  could  hear  voices  of  the  advancing  party, 
and  presently  could  make  out  words. 

"I  tell  you,  they've  got  to  come  in  on  this  road, 
Slim,"  one  of  the  men  was  saying  dogmatically, 
"We're  bound  to  meet  up  with  them.  That's  all 
there  is  to  it." 

"Yorky,"  whispered  Howard,  in  the  ranger's 
ear. 

They  rode  past  in  pairs,  six  of  them  in  all.  As 
chance  would  have  it,  Siegfried's  pony,  perhaps 
recognizing  a  friend  among  those  passing,  nickered 


33Q  A   TBXAS  RANGER 

shrilly  its  greeting.  Instantly,  the  riders  drew 
up. 

"Where  did  that  come  from?"  Yorky  asked,  in 
a  low  voice. 

"From  over  to  the  right.  I  see  men  there  now. 
See!  Up  against  that  hill."  Slim  pointed  toward 
the  group  in  the  shadow. 

Yorky  hailed  them.    "That  you,  Sig?" 

"Yuh  bane  von  good  guesser,"  answered  the  Nor- 
wegian. 

"How  many  of  you  are  there  ?" 

"Four,  Yorky,"  Fraser  replied. 

"There  are  six  of  us.  We've  got  you  outnum- 
bered, boys." 

Very  faintly  there  came  to  the  lieutenant  the  beat 
of  horses'  feet.  He  sparred  for  time. 

"What  do  you  want,  Yorky?" 

"You  know  what  we  want.  That  murderer 
you've  got  there — that's  what  we  want." 

"We're  taking  him  in  to  be  tried,  Yorky.  Jus- 
tice will  be  done  to  him." 

"Not  at  Gimlet  Butte  it  won't.  No  jury  will 
convict  him  for  killing  Jed  Briscoe,  from  Lost  Val- 
ley. We're  going  to  hang  him,  right  now." 

"You'll  have  to  fight  for  him,  my  friend,  and 
before  you  do  that  I  want  you  to  understand  the 
facts." 

"We  understand  all  the  facts  we  need  to,  right 


now." 


The  lieutenant  rode  forward  alone.     He  knew 


'A   TEXAS  RANGER  331 

that  soon  they  too  would  hear  the  rhythmic  beat 
kof  the  advancing  posse. 

"We've  got  all  night  to  settle  this,  boys.  Let's 
I  do  what  is  fair  and  square.  That's  all  I  ask." 

"Now  you're  shouting,  lieutenant.  That's  all  we 
ask." 

"It  depends  on  what  you  mean  by  fair  and 
square/'  another  one  spoke  up. 

The  ranger  nodded  amiably  at  him.  "That  you, 
Harris?  Well,  let's  look  at  the  facts  right.  Here's 
Lost  Valley,  that's  had  a  bad  name  ever  since  it 
was  inhabited.  Far  as  I  can  make  out  its  settlers 
are  honest  men,  regarded  outside  as  miscreants. 
Just  as  folks  were  beginning  to  forget  it,  comes  the 
Squaw  Creek  raid.  Now,  I'm  not  going  into  that, 
and  I'm  not  going  to  say  a  word  against  the  man 
that  lies  dead  up  in  the  hills.  But  I'll  say  this :  His 
death  solves  a  problem  for  a  good  many  of  the 
boys  up  there.  I'm  going  to  make  it  my  business 
to  see  that  the  facts  are  known  right  down  in  Gim- 
let Butte.  I'm  going  to  lift  the  blame  from  the 
boys  that  were  present,  and  couldn't  help  what 
happened." 

Yorky  was  impressed,  but  suspicion  was  not  yet 
banished  from  his  mind.  "You  seem  to  know  a  lot 
about  it,  lieutenant." 

"No  use  discussing  that,  Yorky.  I  know  what  I 
know.  Here's  the  great  big  point :  If  you  lynch  the 
man  that  shot  Jed,  the  word  will  go  out  that  the 
yalley  is  still  a  nest  of  lawless  outlaws.  The  story 


332  'A   TEXAS  RANGER 

will  be  that  the  Squaw  Creeek  raiders  and  their 
friends  did  it.  Just  as  the  situation  is  clearing  up 
nicely,  you'll  make  it  a  hundred  times  worse  by 
seeming  to  indorse  what  Jed  did  on  Squaw  Creek." 

"By  thunder,  that's  right,"  Harris  blurted. 

Fraser  spoke  again.  "Listen,  boys.  Do  you  hear 
horses  galloping?  That  is  Sheriff  Brandt's  depu- 
ties, coming  to  our  assistance.  You've  lost  the 
game,  but  you  can  save  your  faces  yet.  Join  us, 
and  help  escort  the  prisoner  to  town.  Nobody  need 
know  why  you  came  out.  We'll  put  it  that  it  was 
to  guard  against  a  lynching." 

The  men  looked  at  each  other  sheepishly.  They 
had  been  outwitted,  and  in  their  hearts  were  glad 
of  it.  Harris  turned  to  the  ranger  with  a  laugh. 
"You're  a  good  one,  Fraser.  Kept  us  here  talking, 
while  your  reinforcements  came  up.  Well,  boys,  I 
reckon  we  better  join  the  Sunday-school  class." 

So  it  happened  that  when  Sheriff  Brandt  and  his 
men  came  up  they  found  the  mountain  folk  united. 
He  was  surprised  at  the  size  of  the  force  with  the 
Texan. 

"You're  certainly  of  a  cautious  disposition,  lieu- 
tenant. With  eight  men  to  help  you,  I  shouldn't 
have  figured  you  needed  my  posse,"  he  remarked. 

"It  gives  you  the  credit  of  bringing  in  the  pris- 
oner, sheriff,"  Steve  told  him  unblushingly,  voic« 
ing  the  first  explanation  that  came  to  his  mind* 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A    WITNESS   IN   REBUTTAL 

Two  Hours  'later,  Lieutenant  Fraser  was  closeted 
with  Brandt  and  Milliard.  He  told  them  his  story 
— or  as  much  of  it  as  he  deemed  necessary.  The 
prosecuting  attorney  heard  him  to  an  end  before 
he  gave  a  short,  skeptical  laugh. 

"It  doesn't  seem  to  me  you've  quite  lived  up  to 
your  reputation,  lieutenant,"  he  commented. 

"I  wasn't  trying  to,"  retorted  Steve. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"I  have  told  you  how  I  got  into  the  valley.  I 
couldn't  go  in  there  and  betray  my  friends." 

Hilliard  wagged  his  fat  forefinger.  "How  about 
betraying  our  trust?  How  about  throwing  us 
down?  We  let  you  escape,  after  you  had  given  us 
your  word  to  do  this  job,  didn't  we?" 

"Yes.  I  had  to  throw  you  down.  There  wasn't 
any  other  way." 

"You  tell  a  pretty  fishy  story,  lieutenant  It 
doesn't  stand  to  reason  that  one  man  did  all  the 
mischief  on  that  Squaw  Creek  raid." 

*It  is  true.    Not  a  shadow  of  a  doubt  of  it.  I'll 

333 


334  A    TEXAS  RANGER 

bring  you  three  witnesses,  if  you'll  agree  to  hold 
them  guiltless." 

"And  I  suppose  I'm  to  agree  to  hold  you  guilt- 
less of  Faulkner's  death,  too?"  the  lawyer  de- 
manded. 

"I  didn't  say  that.  I'm  Here,  Mr.  Hilliard,  to 
deliver  my  person,  because  I  can't  stand  by  the 
terms  of  our  agreement.  I  think  I've  been  fair  with 
you/' 

Hilliard  looked  at  Brandt,  with  twinkling  eyes. 
It  struck  Eraser  that  they  had  between  them  some 
joke  in  which  he  was  not  a  sharer. 

"You're  willing  to  assume  full  responsibility  for 
the  death  of  Faulkner,  are  you?  Ready  to  plead 
guilty,  eh?" 

Fraser  laughed.  "Just  a  moment.  I  didn't  say 
that.  What  I  said  was  that  I'm  here  to  stand  my 
trial.  It's  up  to  you  to  prove  me  guilty." 

"But,  in  point  of  fact,  you  practically  admit  it." 

"In  point  of  fact,  I  would  prefer  not  to  say  so. 
(Prove  it,  if  you  can." 

"I  have  witnesses  here,  ready  to  swear  to  the 
truth,  lieutenant." 

"Aren't  your  witnesses  prejudiced  a  little  ?" 

"Maybe."  The  smile  on  Hilliard's  fat  face  broad- 
ened. "Two  of  them  are  right  here.  Suppose  we 
find  out." 

He  stepped  to  the  door  of  the  inner  office,  and 
opened  it.  From  the  room  emerged  Dillon  and 


A   TEXAS  RANGER  335 

his  daughter.    The  Texan  looked  at  Arlie  in  blank 
amazement. 

"This  young  lady  says  she  was  present,  lieuten- 
ant, and  knows  who  fired  the  shot  that  killed  Faulk- 


ner." 


The  ranger  saw  only  Arlie.  His  gaze  was  full 
of  deep  reproach.  "You  came  down  here  to  save 
me,"  he  said,  in  the  manner  of  one  stating  a  fact. 

"Why  shouldn't  I  ?  Ought  I  to  have  let  you  suf- 
fer for  me  ?  Did  you  think  I  was  so  base  ?" 

"You  oughtn't  to  have  done  it.  You  have 
brought  trouble  on  yourself." 

Her  eyes  glowed  with  deep  fires.  "I  don't  care. 
I  have  done  what  was  right.  Did  you  think  dad 
and  I  would  sit  still  and  let  you  pay  forfeit  for  us  ?" 

The  lieutenant's  spirits  rejoiced  at  the  thing  she 
had  done,  but  his  mind  could  not  forget  what  she 
must  go  through. 

"I'm  glad  and  I'm  sorry/'  he  said  simply. 

Hilliard  came,  smiling,  to  relieve  the  situation. 
"I've  got  a  piece  of  good  news  for  both  of  you. 
Two  of  the  boys  that  were  in  that  shooting  scrap 
three  miles  from  town  came  to  my  office  the  other 
day  and  admitted  that  they  attacked  you.  It  got 
noised  around  that  there  was  a  girl  in  it,  and  they 
were  anxious  to  have  the  thing  dropped.  I  don't 
think  either  of  you  need  worry  about  it  any  more." 

Dillon  gave  a  shout.  "Glory,  hallelujah!"  He 
ha<2  been  much  troubled,  and  his  relief  shone  on 


336  A   TEXAS  RANGER 

his  face.  "I  say,  gentlemen,  that's  the  best  news 
I've  heard  in  twenty  years.  Let's  go  celebrate  it 
with  just  one." 

Brandt  and  Hilliard  joined  him,  but  th'e  Texan 
lingered. 

"I  reckon  I'll  join  you  later,  gentlemen,"  he  said* 

While  their  footsteps  died  away  he  looked  stead- 
ily at  Arlie.  Her  eyes  met  his  and  held  fast.  Be- 
neath the  olive  of  her  cheeks,  a  color  began  to  glow. 

He  held  out  both  his  hands.  The  light  in  his 
eyes  softened,  transfigured  his  hard  face.  "You 
can't  help  it,  honey.  It  may  not  be  what  you  would 
have  chosen,  but  it  has  got  to  be.  You're  mine." 

Almost  beneath  her  breath  she  spoke*  "You  for- 
got— the  other  girl." 

"What  other  girl?  There  is  none — never  was 
one." 

"The  girl  in  the  picture." 

His  eyes  opened  wide.  "Good  gracious!  She's 
been  married  three  months  to  a  friend  of  mine- 
Larry  Neill  his  name  is." 

"And  she  isn't  your  sweetheart  at  all?  Nevet 
was?" 

"I  don't  reckon  she  ever  was.  Neill  took  that 
picture  himself.  We  were  laughing,  because  I  had 
just  been  guying  them  about  how  quick  they  got 
engaged.  She  was  saying  I'd  be  engaged  myself 
before  six  months.  And  I  am.  Ain't  I?" 

She  came  to  him  slowly — first,  the  little  out* 
stretched  hands,  and  then  the  soft,  supple,  resilient 


'A   TEXAS  RANGER  337 

body.  Slowly,  too,  her  sweet  reluctant  lips  came 
round  to  meet  his. 

"Yes,  Steve,  I'm  yours.  I  think  I  always  have 
been,  even  before  I  knew  you." 

"Even  when  you  hated  me?"  he  asked  presently. 

"Most  of  all,  when  I  hated  you."  She  laughed 
happily.  "That  was  just  another  way  of  love." 

"We'll  have  fifty  years  to  find  out  all  the  differ- 
ent ways,"  the  man  promised. 

"Fifty  years.    Oh,  Steve!" 

She  gave  a  happy  little  sigh,  and  nestled  closer. 


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